Slipped In The Tub

My Birthday

2006-04-25T05:34:00.000-07:00

My birthday was the other day and my wife got a big kick out of having to use almost two full boxes of candles on my cake. And the truth is, by the time she lit the last candle, the first one was almost burnt down to the icing.

At least my son was supportive. He said, “I don’t think you’re old.” I smiled and gave him a fatherly wink. Then he cracked up and said, “I think you’re really, really old.”

But even though I’m getting older, some things don’t change on my birthday. Like when I get cards from my parents. I still open them and pretend I’m really interested in reading the note inside, then I pretend to be surprised when there’s a check in there. I actually open them straight up and down so the check falls out. You know, like it’s the last thing I’d ever expect.

What has changed, though, is what I want to spend the money on. I used to want to blow it on stuff for myself. But now I want to spend it on something for my wife. You know, on something neat to make her smile. Like on a stripper. A girl stripper. I just think that would be cool. I’ve mentioned it a few times, how I’d like to do that for her, but she doesn’t seem to hip to the idea.

Oh, every now and then when she’s drunk she says ‘maybe.’ But then when she sobers up she gets a little angry and I have to swear that I was just kidding around. And I try to explain, but usually that doesn’t go so well. I get real serious and look her straight in the eye and say, “Why are you jumping my ass, you’re the one who brought it up. Man, you must have been more drunk than you think.”

Anyway, so here I am, another year older and my wife is mad it me again for trying to buy her something nice. That’s just the way she is, though. She’s tough to figure out because you never know what’s going to set her off.

Two For The Price Of One

2006-04-21T05:58:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I last posted. So as a bonus for my first post back, I'm putting two posts in the same thread. Just crazy, huh? You may think, "How can you stay in business doing something like that?" Well, it's simple - volume. I get stuff straight from the factory, so there isn't a huge markup. That's right, I pass the savings on to you!

First up:

THE NOYING

We have a little Noying that lives in our walls, but we hardly ever see him. When we do, it’s very exciting because he's furry and cute.

The other day I finally saw it scurry across the floor and I shouted to my son, "Hurry! Come see the Noying!"

He raced down the stairs and we watched the Noying as it nibbled on some crumbs. I patted my son's back and I told him that he was my little Noying.

He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "You think I'm a Noying?" And I said, "Yes, son, you are definitely a Noying."

Whoa, whoa, hold on there slugger, there's still more to come. So up next is my semi-regular post of:

MOVIES I'D LIKE TO WRITE SOMEDAY WHEN I HAVE TIME

The first one’s called “Mortgage.” It’s sort of a rip-off of Rent, but with a twist – people are trying to make money to pay their mortgage instead of their rent. My theory is that it will appeal to a wider audience. Plus the stars in it are rich and have good jobs, except for an evil banker who forges some paperwork so he can repossess everyone’s houses, then resell the land to his uncle who wants to build a car factory. And just as everyone’s going to lose their houses, they somehow figure out that the banker is up to no good and they give him a good talking too.

The next one’s called “Camel Toe Hill.” It’s sort of like Brokeback Mountain, only here’s the twist – it’s about “lesbians” who fall in love, and the sex scenes will show a lot more of the actual sex. I haven’t really thought too much about it beyond that except for the opening scene. It starts out where one of them is having her friend take nude pictures of her to put on an internet dating site. Then one thing leads to another and they start making out and feeling each other up.

The last one is sort of a twist on an idea I posted a while back. It’s called “Stewardess School.” I know stuff like that has been done before, but here’s the catch – an evil land developer is trying to put the school out of business so he can tear it down and build something else. But also the school has another problem because there’s a bunch of hookers who want to take over the school to build a place to turn tricks. Anyway, finally the stewardesses make friends with the hookers who decide to help them keep the school open and fight the evil land developer. So the hookers end up having some big event to raise money, but I haven’t figured out exactly what they’re going to do yet to actually raise the money. So if you think of some way hookers can raise money, drop me an email.

Okay, so that's it for today. If you didn't think my stuff was very funny, feel free to contact me for a refund.

Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life

2005-10-19T11:25:00.000-07:00

If today is the first day of the rest of my life, then what was yesterday? It was the last day of the first part of my life. That depresses me because it means a big part of my life is over.

When I was little people used to say, “You’ve got the rest of your life to look forward to,” and it seemed so far away. But now it’s here. That means I’m on the final stretch. Next stop – autopsy.

I know people mean well when they say that today is the first day of the rest of your life, but they should really think about it before they say it. I always looked forward to the rest of my life, but now that it’s here, I don’t have anything to look forward to.

And how does somebody know that it starts on some particular day for someone else? People are just cruising along minding their own business. Then someone says, “Hey, today is the first day of the rest of your life.” “Huh? Really? Christ, I thought I still had time. I’m not done with the first part of my life yet. I’m totally fucked.”

You see? It can really mess up someone’s day. Plus, I’m completely unprepared for the rest of my life. I don’t even know what I need for it. What the hell am I supposed to even do for the rest of my life?

I know I can’t screw around anymore. My dad told me that when I was little – “You can’t screw around for the rest of your life.” So that means video games, sleeping in, and pretty much anything fun. It’s all history. And that really sucks.

So thanks. Thanks to whoever it was that reminded me that today is the first day of the rest of my life. You ruined my day, you fucking bonehead.

Living With Quilts

2005-10-18T09:19:00.000-07:00

I’m not kidding here, not even a little bit, but there is actually a magazine out there called “Living With Quilts.” Worse than that, a copy of it is in my dad’s living room. I was in way too much shock to even think about opening the cover.

Since I didn’t look inside, the only conclusions I can draw are that there are either way more people than I imagined out there who have been traumatized by quilts, or there are way too many people out there who really love quilts. Since quilts aren’t generally traumatizing, I’m going to assume it’s the latter.

But for cryin’ out loud, how much is there to talk about? And how the hell can you find even more stuff to talk about to fill more issues? Do people really love quilts that much? Apparently they do.

But how the hell do they find enough advertisers to even make gas money? I’m thinking, okay, people that make needles, they might need a place to advertise. But is that really such a lucrative business to merit a chunk of the profits going to an ad in “Living With Quilts”?

Or maybe they need to advertise quilt shows where quilt collectors go to trade quilts and get famous quilt-makers autographs. If so, then who is the Babe Ruth of the quilt world? And what really sets them apart from the quilt-makers in the minor leagues? Do they have a wicked cross stitch?

Anything’s possible, I guess. But then, who else needs to advertise there? People that tear up old pieces of cloth and resell them in bags? I just can’t imagine too many other advertisers that need a magazine like “Living With Quilts.”

On the other hand, maybe there really are that many people out there who really were traumatized by quilts. But if so, how? Did their mom used to beat them with a quilt? And would that really hurt?

Then that begs the question – what could possibly have happened to my father with a quilt that bothers him so much that he has a copy of “Living With Quilts” in his living room? And since it was in such plain sight, is he trying to beg for some intervention? Is he finally ready to open up and talk about quilts?

You can see what a dilemma this creates for me. Do I bring it up, or wait for him to say, “Son, can I talk to you… about quilts?” “Sure dad, you know I’m always here for you. What happened?”

Then again, what if he only intended for ME to see the magazine? Maybe he knows I have some buried quilt issue and he’s trying to prompt me to open up a dialogue.

I'm so confused.

Took A Break

2005-10-17T06:05:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I’ve been taking a break for a while. It’s not that I haven’t been writing, I just haven’t been writing for you. It’s mainly because you don’t leave comments and I’m a needy guy.

It’s the same here at home. I thrive off response, and it doesn’t even have to be favorable response. Just like last night. I finally started taking my fart medicine again and it’s really been paying off.

I was in my little computer room and my wife was in the next room reading God’s punishment to men (“Cosmopolitan” magazine). Anyway, I bent into it a little bit and gave birth to a healthy, screaming fart. I could hear my wife sigh, and then she said, “That’s disgusting.” Well, much to my surprise, a few seconds later I realized I was having twins and my wife sighed again and said, “You’re not funny.” That made all my hard work worthwhile.

Do you see how this works? I work hard and you reward me for it. It’s simple.

Now some other stuff I’ve been up to. First off, I was really excited for the new season of “Desperate Housewives,” but man, what a let down. It sucks this year. The only good news is that I know I’m not a closet homo because I missed last night’s episode and I didn’t care.

I’ve also been in mourning because Ohio State has already lost two games, and if they lose again I just don’t know what I’m going to do. After they lost to Texas I had my nails done and my eyebrows waxed, and I felt pretty good for a while. Then I felt okay after we lost to Penn State because I finally got to see pictures of Brittany’s baby who is soooo cute. But unless Babs is coming out with a new CD pretty soon, I’m stuck for ideas on what to do if we lose again.

Anyway, I’m back to posting so keep checking in. Maybe someday soon the wheels will get rolling and I’ll post something funny. I may even post a picture of my cat’s vomit that looks amazingly like George W. Bush. In fact if you hold a picture of the vomit right next to a picture of Dubya, you really can’t tell the difference.

Which reminds me of a funny thing from the show “Invasion.” Okay, it’s not actually funny because it’s sort of sad too… so I’ll say it’s funny in a sad way.

Anyway, my wife and I were watching “Invasion” and a big hurricane ripped through town and destroyed everything. During the storm the hero went out to find his daughter, then his SUV got knocked upside down. He stayed in it all night long, then in the morning after the storm was over, he crawled out and saw a National Guard truck drive by.

So I looked at my wife and I said, “Okay, now we know this show isn’t based on reality because in real life, the National Guard wouldn’t be there for a couple more days.”

Okay, now I’m really done for today.
.

More Movie Ideas

2005-07-31T14:58:00.000-07:00

If you read the post the other day then you know I said I’d post another list of movies I’d like to write someday.

First up is Nick O’ Teen. It’s the story of Nick, a lonely drifter who lives off cigarettes and coffee. But when he crosses paths with a mean sheriff, he ends up in jail where he can’t smoke or drink coffee. After a while he gets used to the place and even finds a handsome boyfriend who gives him backrubs in exchange for oral sex. Then an evil banker tries to repossess the county jail and Nick decides to use the activity yard to grow tobacco and coffee beans to make money to save his new home.

Then there’s Hundred Dollar Cry Baby. It’s the story of an up and coming prostitute who boxes on the side so no one knows she’s a hooker. Finally she gets so good at boxing that she thinks she might stop sucking dicks for money and get her brains beat out instead. Then an evil banker tries to repossess her gym. Everyone wants to give up and go back to working at Dennys or being hookers, but then our hero decides to use everyone’s talents to have people fighting over who gets to have sex with her, and they offer up a free breakfast buffet when the ring turns into a wild orgy. While the gimmick works, it exposes her as the whore she is and they kick her out in the street after they make enough money to save the gym. So it’s sort of a tragedy.

One I’m really excited about is Hide And Forget To Seek. It’s about a clever evil spirit that convinces the kids in the neighborhood to play hide and seek. Then when all the kids run and hide, the evil spirit just laughs and doesn’t look for them. It’s sort of funny until one of the kids dies of starvation so all the parents form a committee that recommends that none of the kids play hide and seek anymore. It ends up having a happy ending because they find out the one kid didn’t really die, but the evil spirit actually just stole his soul so he just looked dead. He doesn’t give the soul back, but the parents were still pretty happy that they could still spend some time together before their kid goes to Hell.

The last one sounds like a rip off of Wedding Crashers, but it’s not. It’s called Car Crashers. It’s about this group of whacky guys looking for dates. What they do is steal girls cars and crash them. Then when the girls come to give them a piece of their minds in the hospital, they guys give them puppy dog eyes and the girls just melt. They get tons of dates, but then the sheriff finally sends them to prison. And that leads to the funniest scene in the movie when all these girls have to take the bus to visit them in jail and then they all end up in the same room fighting over who gets to visit the guys first. So they decide to have a wet tee-shirt contest to see who gets to go first.

Suicide Watch

2005-07-30T12:01:00.000-07:00

So the wife is into day five on her quitting smoking and I’m now officially on suicide watch. The only bright spot in this ordeal is that she’s constipated and that just cracks me up. Why? I don’t know, but it just does.

She’s also decided that we need to eat a healthy diet so pretty much all we can eat now is fruit and cottage cheese. Mmmmm. The worst part is that she made me go shopping with her today and it nearly tore my heart out when she made me skip the cookie aisle. It was just one more reason to want to die.

I mean what kind of sick bastard won’t let a guy have some cookies… or brats… or anything with flavor? That’s just mean. I guess she finally has her revenge for all the times I farted on her in her sleep. But if she thinks this will put a stop to it, she’s wrong because it will only make it worse. Although now my farts will smell like a spring fruit harvest.

Otherwise her quitting smoking has been pretty smooth. Well, if you don’t count that she cries all the time and kicks holes in the wall. I try to tell her that she’s being immature, but that just sets her off.

But that’s just how she is, she doesn’t take constructive criticism too well. And she doesn’t take reality checks too well either. She’ll say “I hope I don’t gain weight from not smoking” and I'll tell her that statistically she’ll probably put on at least a six pack if not double that. Then, of course, she cries.

What am I supposed to tell her? That she won’t chunk up a little? That would be lying and she said she wants us to be honest. So when she was hanging up her sun dress the other day I said, “Might as well pack that sucker in some moth balls because you're squeezing in that for a while.” Then she kicked a hole in the wall.

See, she just doesn’t get it. You know why? Because she has a girl brain. And if you don’t know what the problem is with having a girl brain then you’re either A – a male virgin, or B – a girl. Otherwise, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Which reminds me of a joke. Why do husbands usually die before their wives? Because they want to.

Oh, here’s another unrelated joke. What would President Kennedy be doing if he were alive today? Scratching wildly at the inside of his coffin screaming “Let me out!”

Okay, one more. Who was the last person to have sex with Marilyn Monroe? The coroner.

And finally the word of the day – skank.

Shut Up

2005-07-21T18:12:00.000-07:00

I’m sort of bummed because Tom Cruise hasn’t been saying anything stupid lately. He was firing off gems left and right… then nothing. My guess is that he got a call from Steven Spielberg threatening to smack him in the forehead with a hammer, so he figured he better shut his trap.

And that got me to thinking about all the ways there are to tell someone to shut up. There’s the above mentioned “shut your trap,” then “shut your pie hole” and the classic “shut your fucking mouth.”

Then there’s the more common “zip it” and my mom’s simple favorite (emphasized with her classic mom look) “enough.” And of course there’s always “shush” and “shut it.” There’s many more, but I’m just pointing out that there are many ways to say the same thing.

My wife doesn’t even have to say any words to let me know it’s time to shut up. She just gives me the look. While it’s similar to a mom look, it’s much more powerful because my sex life hangs in the balance.

And it’s basically the same look that she gives me when I fart, which when you think about it is the same as saying shut up since it’s still a noise. But I don’t think it’s the noise so much as it’s the smell. Especially lately.

I don’t know what I’ve been eating, but I’ve definitely been able to clear the living room. The beauty is that they’ve been the quiet kind so I have a few minutes to prepare. I just fart, then keep an eye on my wife’s expression to know when it makes impact. There’s a price to pay, but there is definitely a Master Card commercial or two in some of her reactions.

And why is it that your own farts don’t stink? It’s a puzzler because even your own farts still basically smell like turds, right? But yet it’s a rare day somebody has to run from the smell of their own fart.

And it can’t be that you just get used to them because otherwise after eleven years my wife would be used to my farts. But she’s not, and that I can guarantee you. She still gets as disgusted as when we met, and it’s one of the few things that she doesn’t get sentimental about. She still gives me the look that says to shut up.

Okay, on to something else. I got a complaint because I dropped the word of the day. First, I dropped it because you selfish bastards weren’t using it in a sentence like you were supposed to.

But even so, I’ll give it a few more tries. If you can’t take a few minutes to leave a comment and use it in a sentence, then I’ll consider you nothing more than flatulence residue. And that, then, is the word of the day – flatulence.

I Learned The Hard Way

2005-07-19T16:38:00.000-07:00

About a week ago I decided to quit drinking coffee. Mind you, I haven’t gone a day without coffee since I was about ten, so this was no small endeavor. Anyway, I was sort of surprised with the results.

I always thought that if I quite drinking coffee that I would go ballistic and start smacking around the cats. But then I realized that I do that anyway. And before you get uptight, I don’t hurt them, I just torment them.

You know, I put tape on their paws - which is a fucking riot if you’ve never done it. Or I toss them little pieces of turkey until they trust that it’s turkey, then I toss them a watered down piece of toilet paper and watch them chomp it down then try and spit it back out. It sounds stupid, but it really is pretty funny.

But the point is, I thought I would be a mean bastard if I quit drinking coffee, but it was just the opposite. I got so relaxed that nothing bothered me. And in a way, that ended up bothering me.

See, it wasn’t just stuff like not getting uptight when the cats vomit on the carpet, but I didn’t even flinch when my wife got out of the shower and put lotion on her boobs. I just looked over, saw her rubbing down the girls, then turned back to watch a rerun of The New Detectives.

Then my son fell asleep on the couch watching TV. He was face up with his head near the edge and his mouth was open. It was the kind of thing that normally makes me happy because I all I have to do is crouch just a little and fart in his mouth. But I didn’t. Yes, I know, I was shocked too.

And just a little while ago I’m pretty sure my wife was testing me. She has a blog too and she told me she was going to do a post about how disgusting camel toes are. And I completely agreed with her! It was then I realized that enough was enough.

I always said that the day I discourage camel toes is the day I need to jump off a bridge. Actually, let me clarify that – the day I discourage hot girls from wearing camel toes is the day I need to jump off a bridge. Because when ugly girls have a camel toe I want to vomit.

So like I said, enough was enough and I had a cup of coffee. I feel whole again. I like to torment the cats, fart on people, and camel toes give me a woody like they should. I never understood just how important coffee is… but I do now.

People Watching

2005-07-14T19:16:00.000-07:00

There’s nothing more fun than people watching. The absolute best place to people watch is through the little hole in the men’s locker room that aims right into the women’s shower. That’s not to be confused with the little holes in the walls in porno movie booths because if you look through one of those you may just end up with a penis your eye.

I also really enjoy people watching when people are getting hurt. Not like sports people that are used to getting hurt, but like regular people tripping and falling. I don’t know why it’s funny, but it just is. Especially when it’s kids that are carrying something like food.

I don’t like to see my own kid get hurt or see anyone get hurt bad, but when it’s someone else’s kids it cracks me up. Guys in suits are also pretty funny to see falling and getting hurt, especially when they’re trying to look important with a brief case.

Another fun people watching thing is when people are being told they can’t have something that they want. Like this guy at the airport once. He wanted to be on our flight, but the girl at the desk kept telling him he had to wait on standby for the next flight. We just sat back and matched our Starbursts to the color of his face.

Then we made it like a drinking game, only with Starbursts. Every time the guy said he was a doctor we had to eat a piece. Then we had to eat two every time he said “God damn it.”

One place I don’t like to people watch is in the middle of gang fights. There’s other places too, but I think gang fights are probably the worst because if you laugh then you might just get shot in the head. I was only in one gang fight, but that was all I needed to know not to laugh.

Well, I guess it wasn’t a true ‘gang fight’ because I was only ten and we were fighting over which team got to bat first. So really I guess it was more of a ‘baseball team’ fight that was really more of an argument. But then one of the kids on my team made fun of how fat the other team’s catcher was and a couple guys started pushing.

One place that’s probably a bad idea to people watch is at playgrounds when you’re a male by yourself and in your forties. I’ve never done it, but I know I called the cops on a guy once that did because he creeped me out.

But other than during gang fights and at playgrounds, people watching is pretty much fun. Especially when people are naked or getting hurt.

Where In The Hell Have I Been

2005-07-14T18:32:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven’t posted for a while, I’ve been on vacation. Well, not the whole time. Actually just a few days were vacation, the rest of the time I was just lazy. Plus I’ve been getting really pissy because you won’t leave comments.

Now I know how my mother felt. I give and I give, and what to I get in return? Nothing. But someday when you have a blog of your own, you’ll understand and you’ll know how it feels. But enough about the pain you selfish bastards have caused me.

Well maybe just a little bit more about it because I’m giving you a cold look and turning my back. Then I’m looking back just long enough until you look my way, then I’m looking away again and walking out of the room. I can only hope you feel guilty.

So, now my vacation. First I sold my car so we could afford to go parasailing at Put-In-Bay up on Lake Erie. It was fun, but I do miss my car. I also realized that there are a lot of dead fish floating on Lake Erie. It would have been cool if they were dead cats, but dead fish were sort of gross.

After parasailing we spent the afternoon on de island, mon. We rented a golf cart to get around. That was sort of fun too, but of course we were the lucky ones that got the slowest golf cart ever made. We kept getting passed by faster golf carts and it really made me understand what it feels like to be a poor person. It must really suck.

Now for a travel tip. If you ever go to Put-In-Bay, it is worth the trip, but save your money and skip the Perry’s Cave tour. I really wanted to smack someone after we were done and demand that they give me back my twenty bucks.

It was a cave, I’ll give them that, but otherwise let’s just say it didn’t make me feel like a genuine spelunker. All I really remember was having to duck my head every three feet and wishing I’d have spent my twenty bucks on a pay per view porn.

Anyway, the next day we went to the Great Wolf Lodge where they boasted the world’s largest indoor waterpark. First of all, how many indoor waterparks are there? I’m thinking maybe just a couple so they didn’t have a lot to compare to for size.

Which reminds me, thank God my wife didn’t have much of a sex life before we met. So she too didn’t have much to compare to for size. She still thinks I’m huge and I don’t try and correct her.

But back to the Great Wolf Lodge. The rooms were sweet and the park was fun, especially the blue slide, but the food sucked unless you like hair in your salad. I happen to be one of ones that don’t like hair in my salad so I had a problem.

Plus they don’t understand the concept of free refills. I was chocking on my God damn chicken wrap and I couldn’t even get an ice cube. What the hell kind of place won’t even give a dying man an ice cube? Well I’ll tell you, the Great Wolf Lodge.

Okay, I wasn’t really chocking, but I felt like pretending I was chocking just to illustrate a point. But then my wife started yapping about not making a scene. She thought I should just ask for a refill, and I thought she should ask for a ride home because at the time it really ticked me off. And I had a lot of time to think about it after I paid the bill and knocked on the door to our room for an hour begging to get in.

And that’s it for today. The gears aren’t really turning so if you didn’t think this was funny, leave a comment and request a refund.

Whore Of The Worlds

2005-07-01T13:37:00.000-07:00

I’ve been running a little on empty lately, so rather than keep skipping posts I decided to come up with some more movie ideas for when I have time to write some more screenplays.

The first one is called Whore Of The Worlds. It’s the story of a Scientology cult that gets run off Earth for shooting off their mouths about stuff they don’t know about. But once they get to the planet Ritalin, they realize they’ve got a problem on their hands so they have to have sex for money just to buy food. Then they all get pregnant, and after they have their kids they get real depressed and vitamins won’t do the trick. Then they have to come back to Earth and beg for medication, but everyone just beats the hell out of them because everyone’s still pissed off about what they said before they left.

The next one’s called It Was Just A Joke You Fucktard. It’s about a budding reporter for a comedy show that thinks it would be funny to squirt a famous movie star with a squirt gun. But after he does it, the movie star goes ballistic and starts beating him with a brick and calling him a jerk. He tries to say it was just a joke, but he ends up in a Turkish prison where he gets raped by a guy that called the same movie star a douche bag back in the early 1990’s. Eventually the movie star lets them out of prison and everyone thinks he’s so wonderful for doing that (except for the two guys that were in prison).

Then there’s Dang That Darn Alien Inhabiting My Body. This one’s a comedy about a wacky science fiction writer that convinces millions of people that they are inhabited by aliens. Even famous movie stars believe it, then hilarity ensues when they start talking about it on the news. And while the bungling movie stars are telling everyone about all this wacky stuff, the family of the now-dead science fiction writer have a hard time keeping a straight face every time they go to the bank to cash millions of dollars in checks.

The last one’s called, Is That An Alien In Your Pocket Or Are You Just Glad To See Me? This is actually the sequel to Dang That Darn Alien Inhabiting My Body. Basically, in the future when everyone figures out that the science fiction writer was just kidding, the movie stars become the butt of all kinds of jokes. They end up getting really depressed because everyone finally sees them for the retards that they are. But when they try and get medicine to help them through their slump, everyone thinks they’re kidding about wanting medicine so no doctors will even give them appointments. It sounds like a drama, but it’s actually pretty funny. Especially when the movie stars start jumping off bridges.

Religion

2005-06-30T16:13:00.000-07:00

All this talk lately about Scientology by my pal Tom Cruise got me thinking. You know, just like Tom, I’m a pretty religious guy. Without religion, what would I say when I stub my toe, or when I see how high my cell phone bill is?

I even think about religion sometimes when my wife is telling me about her day at work. Quietly I say to myself, “I pray to God she runs out of things to bitch about before the commercials are over.” That’s especially true during football season when the Buckeyes are playing.

See, she doesn’t get football. One time we were at an Ohio State game and the guy behind us kept screaming, “Let’s go D!” Finally after he said it a few more times, she sort of looked over her shoulder at him, then she looked at the field and nudged me and said, “Which one’s Dee?”

But girls aren’t supposed to get football, because if they did we’d never have any time alone. I’m sure they feel the same way about soap operas and Trading Spaces. Football is alone time, it’s peace and quiet time, it’s I don’t have to make room on the couch time. It’s sort of a religion all by itself.

Think about it. During football games we pray and we speak of holy things. Like during the 2002 Fiesta bowl when Cie Grant sacked Ken Dorsey on the final play to give the Buckeyes the national championship. I jumped up and ran around the house yelling, “Holy shit! Holy shit!”

Which got me to thinking. Do you ever wonder if the Jesus fanatics that used to follow him around would put his turds in a little bag? Then when they’d go back in town and someone would ask them what’s in the bag they could say, “Holy shit.” I just wonder if anyone did that.

Then that got me to thinking. What do you think Jesus would have done if a reporter squirted him in his face with a squirt gun? I’m thinking he would have probably gotten a kick out of it. I know for sure he wouldn’t have had them arrested only to let them go later so he could act like he was being a good guy.

I also heard that Jesus had one of his kids on Ritalin for a while. A lot of people don’t know that he had kids, but he actually had about four. The youngest one, Schmu-Schmu, was quite a handful so Jesus put him on Ritalin.

I’m told that one day when he walked through Schmu-Schmu’s room, it inspired him to say, “Though I walk through the valley of death…” But what he really was doing was talking about a metaphor for how messy the room was.

Anyway, he eventually got his kid of Ritalin, but he didn’t go shooting his mouth off about how stupid everyone else is because they put their kids on Ritalin before they kill them. And that’s because Jesus understood what it was like to have kids that don’t listen.

I mean really, can you imagine how differently we’d view Christianity today if Jesus ended up beating his kids? So not only did Ritalin save Schmu-Schmu from getting smacked with a belt, it actually saved Christianity. Even the Bible wouldn’t have been written if it weren’t for Ritalin.

So, since I’m a religious guy, I’m eternally grateful for Ritalin. I’m also thankful for the Buckeyes, and that’s where it gets tough because I can’t quite choose which one is more important. Oh well, God Bless and thanks for stopping by.

My Sister Needs To Shut Her Pie Hole

2005-06-28T05:54:00.000-07:00

First of all, my sister is nice and everything, but she’s got a lot of nerve trying to tell me how to live my life. “You shouldn’t talk about your wife in your blog because it probably hurts her feelings,” she said. So I said, “Well you should spend a little more time learning how to cook so maybe people will stop making fun of you.”

I’m serious, my sister just can’t cook. Okay, maybe she can cook, but not anything you’d want to eat. If you spent the last ten years in prison and you stopped by my sister’s house for dinner, you’d end up holding up a bank so you could go back to prison for better food.

And just try talking to her about it. You’d have a better shot trying to convince Tom Cruise that he needs to get his kids on Ritalin.

She just doesn’t get it. Just like the other day when I had to stop by her house to borrow some money. She brought out this plate of cookies and I said, “Mmmm, burnt cookies.” But she thought I was kidding, so she laughed and said she’d get me a glass of milk. Then I said, “No thanks, I’d rather have less to throw back up so no milk for me.” She didn’t laugh at that, though. It was worse.

She started digging around in my life because she just read a John Gray book about relationships. She thought I was using the cookies as an analogy for my inability to express my feelings, and that it was the root of the issues I have in my relationship with my wife. So I told her that at least my wife can cut a roll of cookies and cook them without setting off the fire alarm.

But it didn’t shut her up. It was like the go-ahead to lecture me on how to create an environment that was safe for my wife to honestly express her emotional issues. I told her that I would do that as soon as my wife stopped having an emotional issue every twenty God damn minutes.

She insisted that I was using exaggerations and humor to bury my feelings, just like I was doing with her and the burnt cookie analogy. So I finally said that she was right, that I do use analogies to communicate. So I said that talking with her was like eating burnt cookies, and that I’d like her to shut her pie hole.

Well, she finally broke and it was pretty funny. See, when she gets mad she still tries to look like she’s not mad. But those veins on her forehead start flaring up and thumping. I can’t help but giggle because even though she still forces a smile, I always expect blood to start squirting out of her ears any second. It never really happens, but it cracks me up to imagine what it would look like.

But that’s just how my sister is. You can’t talk to her about anything and it’s been like that since we were kids. I used to tell her that I’d give her a hundred dollars to go buy a sense of humor, but then I started using that line on my wife because I live with her so I’d rather she got a sense of humor instead of my sister.

It must be a woman thing because it doesn’t seem like any of them have a clue about what people are trying to say. I used to think maybe it was just me, but then what are the odds of every woman I know being so irrational? Slim to none. So now I realize that it really is just a woman thing.

Birthday Fun

2005-06-26T19:05:00.000-07:00

My wife’s birthday was yesterday, but the pain lingers on. See, my wife doesn’t just have a birthday, she has birth-related episodes. Basically, birthdays remind her that nobody loves her enough to give her a new car. Then that triggers childhood issues like what some girl said to her on the school bus about the dress she got for her eighth birthday (and actually I happen to think that story is pretty funny, but she won’t ever loosen up enough to see the humor in it).

What makes this year even worse is that she turned thirty, so now she thinks that she’s going to instantly lose her sex drive and get wrinkles. So I said, “what sex drive?” because I think it’s been pretty much slipping away since the day we got married. Well that set her off and she got up from the table and knocked her chair against the wall.

I was just trying to take off some of the stress of her turning thirty by assuring her that her birthday had nothing to do with her declining sex drive. But she doesn’t really want to shake some of the rocks loose in her head to really hear what I’m saying. She picks out what she wants to hear.

And once she goes there, she completely loses her sense of reality. I even told her that I was just kidding (wink, wink). But when that didn’t work I offered her a hundred dollars to go buy a sense of humor. I even told her that the money wouldn’t count as her birthday present because it would be worth it just to have some peace and quiet for the first time in about ten years.

Then she started crying about how it was her birthday and nobody cared. And I told her that it was because she wasn’t acting her age. But despite her always saying how she wants honesty in our relationship, she went ballistic.

That’s just the way she is. You can’t talk to her about anything because she takes everything out of context. Like about the sex thing. I was just mentioning it because I understand that you have to talk about issues like that, and I even tried to do it in a lighthearted way. But she thinks those things fix themselves by calling me names and threatening to divorce me.

She says things like, “Oh, so maybe you want that little whore next door that runs around in her little fucking bikini.” And I say, “No because she’s not eighteen yet.” I thought it was pretty obvious that I was joking, but (like always) she ignored my point which was just to lighten up.

And it’s the same thing every birthday, and double this year because she turned thirty. Then next year it’ll be thirty one, and on and on until she hits forty. And when she turns forty, I’m thinking about doing it up right to really take the edge off (since thirty was such a treat).

I’m going to start by renting a mechanical gorilla holding a sign that says, “My wife is forty – Honk if you think that’s old.” Then I’m getting hats and tee shirts for everyone she knows that say, “Lordy Lordy, Heather Turned Forty.” And I’m going to give her a cane and a box of Depends. That way she’ll see the humor in it and it’ll take the edge off.

Tom Cruise Opens Up About How Great He Is

2005-06-19T12:59:00.000-07:00

Did you catch the Tom Cruise interview last Wednesday? The one where he talked about Scientology and about how he’s such a caring and great guy? Did you know people send him letters to thank him for being such a great guy? It’s true.

It was quite an eye opening interview. I never really understood just how great Tom Cruise is until he told me. What really convinced me was when he leaned into the camera and got a really serious look in his eyes. Then he said (in a real low voice so I knew he was serious), “I care about people. I care about you.” Then he pointed all around and said, “I care about you, and you, and you, and everyone in this room.”

Wow. Tom really cares. I was blown away. Here all this time I just thought he was an egotistical movie star that only cared about filling his pockets with gold bars and thousand dollar bills. But that’s not the case.

Mostly he just wants kids to get off prescription drugs. That’s actually the message that gets him all the letters of overwhelming appreciation. I guess a lot of people never knew that things like Ritalin were bad for their kids until Tom Cruise said something about it in an interview (in between takes on the set of his latest movie about Aliens destroying the world).

But it’s true. He said that people really do send him letters thanking him for telling them that Ritalin is bad. And they also tell him he’s great. They don’t send letters to the people that actually sacrificed years of their lives doing research. They send letters to Tom Cruise who takes a limo to a studio to give a ten minute interview.

Tom went on to say that people tell him how he changed their lives. They tell him that he even saved their families. And Tom went into even more detail on the subject by saying, “Me, me, me, me, me, second coming of Jesus, me, me, me.” And when he was asked why he’s finally speaking out, he said, “Me, me, me, me, me.”

It was really a touching interview. I think that the neatest part was that Tom knew he was pressed for time, so he didn’t waste a second to tell anyone that he didn’t do any of the really hard work to find out just how bad prescription medicine is. So he skipped giving any credit to anyone but himself. It was really a neat moment, especially when he summed it up with, “Me, me, me, me, me.”

It really convinced me that I was wrong about Tom Cruise. He’s more than a greedy movie star that acts retarded on Oprah. He’s a great, great, super great guy. And I never would have known that if he didn’t take a few minutes to tell me. So from the bottom of my heart, thanks Tom.

Getting Over A Mom Look

2005-06-12T05:56:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven’t posted for a few days. It’s not that I haven’t been motivated to post, it’s just that my mom finally found my blog and told me to stop swearing and talking about farts. She also told me that I have to apologize to my ex-girlfriends for comparing them to turds.

Surprisingly, she thought the stuff about my special friend was okay at first. But then she said he probably has a lot of problems at home dealing with being retarded (she called him retarded, not me), so he didn’t need me making things worse.

It was a crushing blow to my creativity, especially the farts thing. So you see, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to post, I just felt lost without my main subjects – farts, turds, swearing and my special friend. That left very few things for me to talk about.

And why is it? Why is it that a mom can still bring a grown man to his knees? Life can be cruising along nicely for me. I’ve got a place to talk about farts, I’ve got internet porn, I’ve got… well, that’s pretty much it, but it’s a good life. Then I get the ‘mom look’ and the walls come crashing down.

It’s like I went back in time and farted on my sister in the back seat of the car and caught my mom’s disapproving glare in the rear-view mirror. I would sink in my seat in shame. Then my sister would give me that sly look right before she said, “Mom, he farted again.” And since the bitch was lying, I’d smack her upside the head.

My mom, of course, would then think that I did fart again, and that I smacked my sister upside the head for no good reason, and she’d say, “Damn it, I warned you.” Then my worst fears would come true as she actually pulled the car over.

Parents always threaten to pull the car over, but they never do. My mom was one of the few parents that actually pulled the car over. And she also had a pretty long reach and she was very well trained in how to smack me in just such a way that it made me cry every time.

She doesn’t smack me anymore, but she does still have the look. And all she has to do is give me the look and I know to shut up before I get smacked, even though I know I won’t get smacked anymore. I can even hear ‘the look’ in her voice when we’re talking on the phone. It’s one of those mother-son bonds that transcend the physical world.

Anyway, I hope you understand why I haven’t posted for a few days. It’s tough getting over a ‘mom look’ as some of you may be familiar with. When I was a kid, I could bounce back from a mom look as soon as Hong Kong Phooey or The Banana Splits came on, but it’s not so easy now that I’m older.

Feeling The Heat

2005-06-06T14:20:00.000-07:00

I’m coming up on my two month anniversary here at Slipped In The Tub and the pressure is starting to wear on me. Now that I have around five of you that read my blog semi-regularly, it’s hard to deal with the responsibility of entertaining you when you’re bored at work.

Can I be funny every single day? Well, if you’ve been reading my blog on a regular basis, you know that I can’t. Okay, so then can I be funny at least once in a while so that maybe a few of you will keep trying back hoping that today is the day that I post something that isn’t completely retarded? Wow. Think about it. That’s a lot to deal with every day.

That kind of pressure, to write something once in a while that isn’t completely retarded, well it’s tough. Really tough. It’s even harder when I bounce a post idea off my wife and she just rolls her eyes. Then I have to explain why I think it’s funny and it really gets on her nerves.

She says things like, “I still don’t get it” or “Okay, but what you don’t understand is that most normal people don’t think that farts are funny.” Then I tell her that I’ll give her a hundred dollars to go buy herself a sense of humor. I mean it as a tension breaker, but she gets all mad and slams the door. Then I say it again and I tell her that I mean it this time.

That’s just the way she is though. She doesn’t take constructive criticism very well. But I think that having a sense of humor is pretty important, so what’s the harm in reminding her that she needs one?

I will give her this, though, she is at least a little clever. Because when I tell her to buy a sense of humor, sometimes she says things like, “Well obviously I already have one because our marriage is a joke.” So I guess that also makes her just a little bit witty too, doesn’t it?

Then she gets all upitty and says that she could have married someone who understands that foreplay is more than just saying how nice her ass looks in those jeans. What the hell is up with that? Christ. One day she says to compliment her more often, then when I do, she gets an attitude.

I guess I should just quit bouncing post ideas off her because it really isn’t very good for our marriage. But then what do I do? I have all this pressure to write something once in a while that isn’t completely retarded, and there’s no one that I can turn to.

I’m beginning to understand how Jesus felt. You know? Imagine all the pressure he had on him when he was trying to get his point across, and how everyone pretended like he was nuts. It really must have taken a toll on him.

Oh, and I’m not talking about the Jesus from the Bible, I mean the Jesus that used to buss tables at this restaurant I worked at in California. Nobody could understand anything he said because he only spoke Spanish. He couldn’t even say his own name right. He pronounced it Hey-Zues. Then when he’d try and write something down so we could understand it, it was still in Spanish so still nobody could understand what the hell he was trying to say.

That was probably pretty hard on him. We relied on him to get the dirty glasses to the dishwasher, but maybe we needed him to also refill some coffees in another part of the restaurant. It was a lot of pressure and I’m sure it got to him. Just like the pressure on me now to write something once in a while that isn’t completely retarded.

You guys count on me for that, and it’s completely fucking up my marriage so I hope you’re happy.

But anyway, thanks for checking in, I’m really glad you stopped by. I hope this post isn’t completely retarded and that you have a great day! And thanks for sticking with me for these first couple months. You’ve helped make Slipped In The Tub the 7,015th most read blog!

Signs Of Truth

2005-06-06T06:09:00.000-07:00

My wife made an interesting observation the other day. We were driving around and she saw a sign advertising puppies for sale. Then she noted that every time we see signs about puppies, people are asking money for them. But when we signs about kittens, people are just giving them away for free.

There probably was a time when people sold kittens, but then over the years kitten buyers realized that kittens become cats. And all the people that paid for kittens got really pissed off and came back to where they bought them with a baseball bat. And after kitten sellers lost a few kneecaps, they decided they better just get rid of whatever they had left before somebody came back with a gun instead of just a baseball bat.

So with all the big time kitten sellers giving them away for free, there was no way anyone that just had a couple kittens could compete. So then everyone started giving kittens away for free.

Some of the small time kitten people probably kept their first batch of kittens. But once all of those kittens grew up into cats, they understood why everyone was giving kittens away for free. So then they started giving them away for free, just like everybody else.

See, with kittens you get about three to six months of value, then they’re worthless. They’re little and cute and playful and they make you laugh because they have that cute little meow that is so endearing. Then pretty much over night their meow starts grating on your nerves because the only time you hear it is when their food bowl is empty.

On top of that, the only time cats even want to be near you is when you’re trying to read a newspaper or fold laundry. The rest of the time they’re either filling up the litter box, puking, or sleeping under the bed. That would be fine except that they’re still costing you money.

And the funny thing is, you never see a sign advertising grown cats. Not only don’t people try to sell grown cats, but they know better than to even try and give them away for free because it’s a complete waste of cardboard and ink.

There is only one scenario where people accept full grown cats. First, they’ve never had one before. Second, one shows up hurt on their porch and it won’t go away. And third, there is a woman that lives in the house.

That raises a curious question. How do people still get money for puppies, and even grown dogs? Don’t dogs eat, puke and poop? Yes. And you even have to stop whatever you’re doing so that they can go outside to poop. So what’s the difference?

The biggest difference is that dogs do one of two things. They either maintain some appreciation for their owners and act glad to see them even when they’re grown dogs. Or they scare the piss out of people which gives them value as a break-in deterrent. Whereas cats don’t appreciate anyone, ever. And no cat ever made a burglar think twice about breaking in and stealing everything.

Think about it. If you’re a burglar who is targeting a house and you find out they have a German Shepard and a Pit Bull, you’ll target a different house. But if you find out they have a Siamese and a Persian Short Hair, you’re still breaking in and stealing everything.

It’s something to think about next time you see a sign advertising free kittens. There’s a reason that they’re free, and I hope I’ve helped you to understand that reason. Just keep driving.

If You Want To Laugh Your Butt Off...

2005-06-04T22:36:00.000-07:00

I just watched an hour of America’s Funniest Videos. It was a rerun of an old one from when Bob Saggat was the host. That was funny stuff back in those days, especially Bob’s jokes. For example – he was setting up a montage that had a horoscope theme, and he said that a “horoscope isn’t a mouthwash for Frankenstein.” I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants.

Then later in the show they had a clip of these kids having a snowball fight. Right in the middle of the chaos, one ornery kid turned right to the camera and threw a snowball at the guy doing the filming. Can you believe that? It was hilarious. Not only that, but he nailed the camera dead on and snow completely covered the camera lens. I nearly fell out of my chair.

They really knew how to pick the funny clips back in those days. Like the one where the parasailer was coming in for a landing and you could tell that something was going to happen, but you couldn’t tell what. I was already cracking up just wondering. Then wham! The guy smacked right into the side of a car! Oh my God, I was crying. He just laid there for a second like maybe he broke his neck, but then he started moving like he just got knocked unconscious for a few seconds. I was laughing so hard that tears were coming out of my eyes.

The absolute best video of the night was from a wedding reception. There was this guy that must have been about fifty or sixty years old, and he looked a little drunk. Anyway, he was dancing with the bride and he started kicking up his heels and getting whacky. I swear I’m not making this up. But if that wasn’t funny enough, he slipped and fell right on his butt in the middle of the dance floor! I wish I would have been there.

And don’t even get me started on the ‘Assignment America’ clips because I’m already laughing just thinking about it. The instructions were to video someone tossing a salad in a creative way! Seriously! And trust me, whatever you’re thinking about that’s making you laugh is nothing compared to what they showed. There was this group of little kids in a dance class and, are you ready? They all had clear plastic salad bowls tied around their waists! So as they were dancing and jumping, the salad was getting tossed!

Anyway, if you want to really laugh hard, first of all stop reading my blog. Then camp out in front of your TV and switch to the ABC Family Channel and catch a few reruns of the old America’s Funniest Videos. You will crack up!

It's Time For Me To Grow Up

2005-06-04T03:57:00.000-07:00

I’m having a rough morning because I’ve come to a decision about farts. They aren’t funny or cool anymore. That doesn’t mean that I’m done talking about farts, but I won’t be talking about them like they’re funny or cool anymore.

After all, it is pretty immature for a guy my age to talk about farts (a.k.a. – gas, breaking wind, flatulence, barking spiders, toots, stripping a gear, warning shots, ghost turds, paint peelers, track layers, ass trumpets, etc.). It’s time to accept that I need to grow up and quit talking about farts. I need to pass the gas onto the younger kids.

Yes, farts were funny in their day. Like the time I was at the grocery store shopping with my wife and she was looking at something near the end of the aisle. Then I ripped one that echoed and I stepped just out of sight so that the other shoppers down the aisle thought that my wife did it. But I’m too old for that. Plus it hurts when we get out in the parking lot and my wife kicks me in the nads to get even.

And it’s just too silly anymore to play “diver’s last breath” in the bathtub. Let’s face it, farting in the bathtub just gets you bubbles… that stink. It doesn’t win you respect. Well, that’s not entirely true because my son thinks that farting is pretty cool, but what kind of role model am I for the little guy?

Pretty soon he’ll think that it’s cool to do everything I do. Like he’ll start farting in the cat’s faces when they’re asleep on the couch. And he’ll start telling people on the phone that he has a secret and he’ll get real quite then fart in the phone. That’s not okay, man. He shouldn’t do those kinds of things, and neither should I.

Farting just isn’t cool anymore. Period.

So… did I have you going? Because I’m just kidding. Farting is totally cool. You couldn’t pay me to stop farting. Well, first of all because you have to fart or you’ll die. But I mean you couldn’t pay me to stop farting loud and at inappropriate times. Actually, you could pay me, but I would just take your money. Maybe I wouldn’t fart at a funeral, but just about any other time is fair game.

I always thought it would be funny to get arrested and have the police think that I just killed somebody. Then when they’re getting mad and saying things like, “You’ll get the chair, punk, you understand me?” I’d say, “Okay, I’m ready to talk.” Then they’d click on the tape recorder and lean up real close, and just then I’d go, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t quite ready.”

They’d think I was playing games, but the truth would be that I was going to fart but I lost it. So then I’d have to say, “Okay, for real this time, I’m ready to talk.” Then I’d rip a huge fart. And once the cops were laughing and all loosened up, I’d explain that I wasn’t the guy they were looking for.

I also think it would be hilarious to walk up to someone and ask them to pull my finger. Then when they pulled it, I’d rip a huge fart. It would seem to them that by pulling my finger, it made me fart. Can you imagine that? Oh my God that would be funny. But I don’t think I’d ever have the nerve to pull that one off.

I also think it would be pretty funny to pretend like I’m stepping on a loose floor board. Only instead of there being a creak from a loose board, all that the people around me would hear is me farting. And then if I played it off like I didn’t fart and it really was the floor board, everyone would just start cracking up because they’d know it really was a fart and not a loose floor board. The problem is, I don’t know anyone that has a loose floor board so I’ve never been able to try that.

There are so many more things to try, and life is too short to spoil the fun. I’ll never stop farting until I die. And here’s what’s cool. I heard that even for a little while after you die, you still fart a couple more times because there’s still gas in your body that slowly works its way out. Does that kick ass or what?

Movie Ideas

2005-06-03T04:22:00.000-07:00

As you may know, I write screenplays. I don’t get paid for it, but I do write them. So I thought I would share some of my ideas for stories that I’d like to write when I have the time.

The first one is going to be called “American Pi.” It’s about a math professor who is so annoying that none of the other teachers want to have anything to do with him. They all think that he’s too obsessed with internet porn and math equations. Then one day the bank tries to repossess the community college he works at. I’m not sure where to go with it after that, but I’m still working on it.

The next one is called “Summer Strippers.” It’s about a group of barely legal girls that just graduated from high school, and they all work at a taco stand. It’s run by the grumpy old Mr. Vasquez who just found out that the bank is going to repossess his taco stand. All the girls are glad to see him go, until they find out that he’s so mean because he has a brain disorder. Then they feel really bad so they raise money for him to pay off his loan by moonlighting as strippers.

Then there’s “The Barn Dance.” It’s about a group of hookers who are at war with the local sheriff. He wants them run out of town because they want to legalize prostitution so they can pick up customers at the weekly barn dance. But when an evil banker tries to repossess the community barn, the hookers do something to raise the money to save the barn. I haven’t figured out exactly what they do to raise the money, but I’m still working on it.

One of my favorites is called “Rhode Trip.” It’s about a group of wild young women who plan a spring break trip to Rhode Island to be on MTV. But just before they’re ready to leave, the dad of one of the girls (who’s an evil banker) forges some paperwork and repossess her car so she won’t end up stripping on TV. But the plan backfires when the girls have a topless carwash to raise money for bus fare.

Then there’s “Flat Chance.” It’s about a high school guy who can’t get any dates because he has a chronic case of flatulence, so all the girls call him the farter. But when an evil banker tries to repossess the local movie theater, he teams up with Weird Al Yankovic and they make a hit record about farts. Unfortunately, even after the theater is saved, all the girls still keep their distance, so it’s sort of a tragedy.

And finally I’d like to welcome back my special friend who finally showed up again yesterday. He even forwarded a photo of himself to my email. Thanks special friend, it’s good to have you back, regardless of what you do in your free time.

The Dangerous Journey

2005-06-01T12:30:00.000-07:00

I had been driving for some time through the pitch black of the night. Miles had passed without seeing another pair of headlights, so I felt all alone in this strange, unknown land. And it truly was unknown because I had been driving so long that I did not know where I was.

I was scared, but I also knew before I started that my journey would involve risks. But now that I was facing those risks, it made me reconsider this trip. Was it worth it? It would be if I survived, but since I didn’t know if I would survive, I couldn’t say if it was worth it yet.

Finally I saw a light just ahead that dimly lit a dirty billboard that simply said, “Diner, Next Exit.” I knew the danger of stopping, but I was so hungry that I couldn’t go on without nourishment. Even though I didn’t know exactly where I was, I did know that I still had a long and perilous journey ahead. I needed to eat.

As I drove down the darkened freeway exit, something crossed in front of me, I had to swerve so hard that my car spun around in a cloud of dust. My headlights lit dusty fog and the silhouette of bloody Indian warrior. As I looked up from the blood on his bare chest, it led to a hole so big in his throat that he surely couldn’t be of the living.

He waved a blood soaked spear in my direction, then he disappeared into the night. I realized that I had been cursed. For the first time in my life I feared death. I had heard the tales of the warrior ghost who cursed death on those unfortunate enough to cross his path, but I never believed they were true. Now I knew they were, and I knew that I truly may not survive this journey.

I trembled as I pulled into the gravel parking lot of the diner. Perhaps they could help. Perhaps they could tell me how to cheat death and undue the curse of the warrior ghost. Or, perhaps I was about to order my last meal.

I couldn’t bring myself to turn off my car. I was so terrified that I couldn’t even take my foot off the break. I looked inside, and a waitress was peering through the smeared, dirty windows at me. The fear in her eyes indicated that she already knew I was a dead man walking.

Then I was startled as a rusty pickup with a burnt out headlight pulled up next to me. I looked at the driver, and he looked at me. His expression was uncertain and he slowly, cautiously reached toward the dashboard. He grabbed a small tin of chewing tobacco, pinched a little, then stuffed it in his cheek. Then he grinned.

His grin turned to a scotch soaked laugh. I could see that he only had a few teeth, and the few he had were rotted black. And it was then that I could sigh relief because I knew I was in Oklahoma and that I had made really good time.

So me and the pickup guy went inside and I bought him a cup of coffee and I had a Fiesta Burger and a side order of onion rings. We laughed and laughed about how he couldn’t keep a job because he always ended up locking horns with his bosses. Then I told him how I liked to make up stories about dangerous journeys and death curses, and how it always drove my parents nuts, even back to when I was just a little kid.

After a while, he started hacking because he was such a heavy smoker, and it started getting on my nerves, so I told him I had to go. And as I got in my car, I realized that I had very little time to reach my destination before the curse of the warrior ghost caught up with me. And killed me.

A Million Dollars

2005-06-01T07:27:00.000-07:00

If I won a million dollars in the lottery I’d actually be a little ticked off. Not because I’d have a million dollars, but because I wouldn’t have 220 million dollars like that guy that just won the Powerball lottery. I mean seriously, if they had a charter flight for lottery winners, I’d have to sit in the back.

I’d have a million dollars, but the drinks on the flight would probably be fifty dollars because everyone else would have somewhere between 50 and 220 million dollars. And if the flight was going to Vegas, I wouldn’t even get a suite because the big winners would hog them all up.

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t give back the money or anything. I’m just saying that I’d be a little mad. A million dollars seems like a lot of money until you’re hanging out with people that have that much money in their wallet. They would all be laughing about how they lost a hundred thousand dollars at a black jack table while my wife and looked around for a cheap buffet.

Then on the way home they would all be making fun of me because the only comp I got was a hat with a casino logo on it. It would be humiliating. To put it in perspective, I would be the Kimberly Caldwell of lottery winners. Sure, I’d get something, but then I’d be doing interviews on the TV Guide Channel.

Speaking of which, how did Kimberly Caldwell even get that job on the TV Guide Channel? Do that many heavy drinkers even have cable in their trailers? And if so, how many of them actually watch that channel? So again, how did Kimberly Caldwell get that job, especially after she sucked on American Idol?

She wasn’t the worst ex-Idol contestant, though. I reserve that spot for season one’s Nikki McKibbin. I’m sure she’s a wonderful person and all, but man, she sounded like a guy. A guy that couldn’t sing. And I would bet a million dollars that the producers about crapped their pants when she started singing along during Kelly Clarkson’s victory song “A Moment Like This.” Do you remember that? My guess is that they were recording it for a big multi-platinum single, but then they had to scrap it when Nikki jumped in on verse two.

So it probably cost them a couple million dollars. But then again, guys like that can blow a couple million dollars without losing too much sleep. But me, on the other hand, I couldn’t. Even if I won a million dollars in the lottery. If Nikki McKibbin ruined my multi-platinum single, it would wipe out everything I had.

Now for the word of the day – bifurcated.

My Awesome Dad

2005-05-31T19:50:00.000-07:00

Growing up, my dad was the coolest dad in the world. And man did he love to laugh. I remember this one time we went fishing and he snuck a couple worms onto my sandwich. I took a big bite and then I started throwing up like crazy. My dad laughed so hard I thought he was going to fall off the boat. I miss those days when I could make him laugh like that.

And he always looked out for me, especially when we were fishing. We’d sit there for hours waiting for a nibble, and he’d always keep an eye on my bobber. Then the second mine started to move, he’d grab my rod and reel in my fish for me. He’d say, “The line’ll snap and you’ll get a fish hook in your eye.” It always made me feel special that he didn’t want me to get a fish hook in my eye and that he always reeled in my fish.

Then we’d go home and he’d let me clean the fish and put away the tackle because he was very giving that way. He’d even stand up for me when my mom would say that I was too young. She’d say, “He’s only seven.” But my dad would say, “Shut your God damn pie hole,” and that would put an end to it.

He’d say things like that because he really loved pie. My mom didn’t understand that, and one time she got mad because she found out that he ate some woman’s pie that he met at a bar. He said he was just drunk, but that just made mom even more angry. I even told her that there was nothing wrong with liking pie, but she just cried and ran upstairs.

She was pretty sensitive in a lot of ways. I would say that she had a sense of humor a lot like my dad’s, but the truth is that it was completely different. Actually, she didn’t really have a sense of humor. My dad tried to loosen her up by doing a lot of teasing, but even that didn’t work.

Once my dad pretended to have a heart attack in the middle of dinner. And believe it or not, it was one of the few times I ever saw my mom smile. At least until she found out he was just kidding about having a heart attack, then she threw a fork at him and went to stay with grandma for a few days.

Those were some great times.

And now for the word of the day. Don’t forget to use it in a sentence. Today’s word – clusterfucked.

Movie Night

2005-05-31T06:53:00.000-07:00

My wife and I had a movie night on Saturday. We started out with “White Noise” which was completely unrealistic. Right in the beginning, Chandra told Jonathan that she was pregnant and he started clapping because he was overjoyed. Pa-lease. That would never happen. He would have kicked something and then taken a walk.

Other than that, the movie was pretty stupid, which was a step up from the pregnancy scene. And how did his girl pal could fall off the balcony, crush her skull on a glass archway eight stories below, and live to tell about it? Not only that, but she was up and walking in about fifteen minutes (in movie time). But the girl in the car with a baby got a transformer dropped on her head and died instantly?

Anyway, after that we watched “Birth” with Nicole Kidman. What the hell was that? I really felt the need to smack someone after that movie was over. I kept looking in the credits to see if Roman Polanski had something to do with it. I used to think Nicole Kidman was stupid, then I started to think she’s okay, and now after that movie I think she’s stupid again.

I think Tom Cruise warped her brain with all of that Scientology crap that he and John Travolta are into because those Scientology folks are bonkers. I should save this for my next Adventures in Hollywood post, but I inadvertently got involved with the Scientologists when I was in L.A. trying to be a movie star. And if you read my first Adventures in Hollywood post, then you know what movie star I was trying to be. Tom Cruise. So do you see the tie-in?

Anyway, I got involved with an acting group. And the people that ran it were really nice, especially when I was giving them money for the classes. One day the main guy said his friend was having a party for his daughter’s 14th birthday and we were all invited. He just gave us an address, and it turned out to be at the Scientology Center in Hollywood.

The guy whose daughter was having the birthday was Geoffrey Lewis. He used to be Clint Eastwood’s sidekick in all of his movies in the 1980’s. You’d know him if you saw his picture. And his daughter who was turning 14 was Juliette Lewis.

At the time, Juliette wasn’t the big star she is today (Natural Born Killers, etc.), but she was on a TV series and I had a crush on her, even though she was just turning 14. But it didn’t matter because neither Geoffrey or Juliette came anywhere near us acting class folks. They may have said hello, but that was about it. Maybe it was because we didn’t bring any presents.

So I hung out at the party for just a little while and I had a piece of cake. It wasn’t a piece from the main blow-out-the-candles cake, it was from a sort of not-the-important-guests cake that didn’t have all the good thick icing roses and stuff.

Then after bit, the acting class guy showed us around the place, and he spent a lot of time in the room with all the Scientology brochures. Basically he used the birthday party to try and sell us five hundred dollar introductory seminars to Scientology. I thought it was pretty tricky.

But the point is, I really think that’s why Nicole Kidman is now a little twisted. Not because of Juiliette Lewis’ 14th birthday, but because Scientologists are sneaky and they’re bonkers. And since Tom Cruise was a Scientologist, he surely had an effect on Nicole that made her just a little sneaky and bonkers. And it’s the bonkers part that influenced her decision to be in the movie “Birth” that was about a grown woman being naked in the bathtub with a ten year old boy who she thought was her reincarnated husband.

And now on to the word of the day. Don’t forget to use it in a sentence in the comment section. Today’s word – the.

The Word Of The Day

2005-05-30T08:05:00.000-07:00

I’d like to announce an exciting new feature here at Slipped in the Tub. Along with every exciting new post, I’ll be including a “Word of the day.” Then it will be up to you to include it in a sentence in the comment section.

Why am I doing this? Because I care. I care about giving you an opportunity to share your creativity because you are my friends. Either that or I’m lazy today and I don’t have anything to write about. Plus it makes me feel popular when people comment, which is one of the reasons I was so sad to see my special friend go away. At least he commented.

I was going to write about our trip to the grocery store last night, but there wasn’t enough to carry a whole post. It was funny though because my wife was furious that she didn’t bring her camera phone. There was this backwoods family there and they all had mullets.

See, we live out behind the cornfields in Ohio, and mullets are still trendy. But my wife and I crack up every time we see one. At least we’re not as bad as Iowa, because do you know what’s out behind the cornfields in Iowa? More cornfields. And studies show that the number of mullets per capita is in direct proportion to a state’s corn production. So Iowa is worse than Ohio.

Now on to the exciting new feature called “the word of the day.” Remember to use it in a sentence. Today’s word – fucktard.

Fond Memories

2005-05-27T05:14:00.000-07:00

I took a dump this morning and flushed the toilet. And as I was watching my turd swirl around and disappear, I thought about how I missed my special friend from the other day who I won’t call retarded. But like my turd, my special friend is gone and not coming back.

And isn’t that how life works? You have these special things in your life that you don’t appreciate until they’re gone.

Like my ex-girlfriend Rachel. I didn’t appreciate her when she was here. I thought all I wanted was to be done with her that first time she cheated on me. Then there was the time she was grinding on some guy at a bar so I dumped her because I thought I’d just fucking had enough, but she came to my house at about four in the morning and threw a coffee cup that just missed my head.

It put this big dent in the wall and I had to tackle her when she reached for a plate. I was so mad at the time. I mean really mad. And isn’t that funny, because those are the special times that really stick out now, some ten or so years later. Good ole’ cup throwing, cheating whore Rachel. I wonder what she’s up to these days.

Then there was Tammy. She’s the one who was in the Air Force that went on to be a guard in a women’s prison. Oh sure I laughed about the graded letter incident in my post the other day, but inside I was crying.

And that trip to visit her and her fundamental Baptist family in Sacramento, well, it wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be. It doesn’t matter now that I spent six hundred dollars on a full fare airline ticket, or that I took an unpaid week off work just to be told I was going to burn in hell for eternity.

And it’s special to me that I got officially dumped at the Museum of Medieval Torture in San Francisco over by Pier 39. Even though that museum isn’t there any more, the memory of what happened there lives on. As does the memory of sitting quietly on her porch for the rest of that day while Tammy and her family completely ignored me until it was time to go to the airport.

There’s still so much more about my trip to Sacramento and that day in San Francisco, and I’ll tell you about it another time. I remember it like it was just yesterday. And if it was really just yesterday, then yesterday would have been one of the worst days of my life. But again, it’s those kind of days that I remember so fondly now. Good ole’ Baptist prison guard, bring me to Sacramento for no fucking good reason Tammy. I wonder what she’s up to these days.

But she’s just a memory now. Nothing but a turd swirling around in a toilet that’s gone forever. And that’s how I like to so fondly remember Rachel too, and even Carlene who I’ll talk about another time. They’re all just turds that swirled around for a while… then they were gone.

I sort of hope they find my blog some night while they’re on the internet so they can know that I still think about them, especially when I’m taking a dump. I’ll flush the toiled and watch my turd swirl around, and I’ll say, “Goodbye Tammy” or “Goodbye Rachel.”

Sometimes I even think of them when I rip a fart that really stinks. I’ll lift my leg and let out a fart that screams Mexican food, then I’ll think about the good old days and those special gals.

And it’s hard for me to talk about these things with my wife. We don’t have those kind of special memories because she’s never cheated on me or tried to hit me in the head with a cup. And she’s also never tried to dump me in the Museum of Medieval Torture by Pier 39 in San Francisco. She’s never even told me I was going to burn in hell or wasted a fucking week of my life to bring me to another state to completely ignore me.

It makes me sad that my wife and I don’t have anything like that. It breaks my heart that I don’t think about my own wife when I’m watching a turd go down the toilet. It hurts when she doesn't understand it when I say, "Pause the movie, I gotta go take a Rachel" or "Give the bathroom a few minutes to breath, I just dropped a Tammy bomb in there." But we’ll carry on. I guess because we love and care about each other, for whatever that’s worth.

My Special New Friend

2005-05-25T06:09:00.000-07:00

I never thought blogging would enrich my life, but it has in so many ways. And it’s not just from what I’ve gotten out of it, but it’s also what I’ve been able to give back to the community.

Just yesterday I touched a life and made a special new friend. I say a “special” new friend because it’s the politically correct way of saying that someone is retarded, and I don’t like to call anyone retarded. After all, it’s not their fault how they were born.

Anyway, I met my special new friend in the comment section of yesterday’s post. They shared with me that they think Gabriel from Desperate Housewives is masculine. I beg to differ because I think she’s totally hot, but they’re entitled to their opinion. But the fact that they can say she’s masculine makes me think that either their medication isn’t working anymore (which I shared with them), or that they’re a Baptist lesbian who was in the Air Force and went on to be a guard in a woman’s prison.

But I don’t discriminate against people whether they’re special, on medication, a Baptist lesbian, a guard in a female prison, short, fat or purple. I’m not like that, because that’s not right. I welcome everyone here at Slipped In The Tub. The more diverse the better, because everyone has something to offer. Just like my special new friend who encouraged me to add a new word to my vocabulary – insipid.

And it was so ironic because I used to think insipid was a novelty straw that came in cereal boxes. So I never could figure out why people were always telling me that I was a novelty straw. Only a true friend, like my special new friend, would help me to understand the truth.

And they also helped me to understand that it’s not okay to be obsessed with farts. I was shocked, but thankful for the truth because only someone who cared would tell me the truth. It’s not okay to think farting is funny. Wow. That took some time to sink in.

And so I guess that means it’s not okay to wet my ass and sit on the side of the tub, then lean over to fart because it amplifies the sound so my wife can hear it downstairs in the living room. I used to think that was funny. But I guess I have some apologizing to do when she gets home tonight from San Francisco.

I guess it also isn’t okay when the lights are out and my wife is almost asleep to act real nervous, then go, “Honey, did you hear that?” And then when she gets nervous too and listens real hard, it’s not okay to rip a fart. Again, I have some explaining to do when she gets home.

But the real thing I learned about yesterday was friendship. Not only was it offered to me from my special new friend, but I reciprocated it back, and that was hard for me. Especially to someone who doesn’t meet the minimum IQ requirement that I usually demand of my friends.

And that’s the great thing about blogging. I feel like I’m really starting to open up. Not just opening up my ass to fart, but I’m opening up emotionally to tolerate special people. I’m touched. And I especially hope to be touched tonight by my wife after we put our son to bed because she’s been gone a week.

So peace be with you. I’m so glad you stopped by, all of you, because you are what gives me a purpose. And a special thanks to my special new friend. And I’d like to conclude with a single word that sums it all up – love. Yeah, that’s right, love, man. Love.

Relationship Helpers

2005-05-24T07:19:00.000-07:00

Occasionally I’ll drop in with a relationship tip to help you build stronger bonds with your loved ones. However, today my tip is to help you get even with an evil bitch that dumps you. Oh, and I’m not talking about my wife, we’re doing peachy. I’m just sharing wisdom that I’ve gleaned over the years in other relationships.

I had this girlfriend once who was literally determined to have me. I know, weird huh? That just doesn’t happen to guys like me too often. But this girl did, and I swear she wasn’t ugly. Although, and this is one hundred percent true, she did go on to be a guard in a female prison. In fact her desire to be a guard in a female prison was one of the things that originally attracted me to her.

Anyway, she lived in Ohio and she was in the Air Force, and she wasn’t a lesbian (despite being in the Air Force and having a desire to be a guard in a female prison). She listened to heavy metal and she loved to party, and she was still just this little thing, and she didn’t have any tattoos.

After her time was up in the Air Force, she decided to go spend a few months with her parents in Sacramento to reconnect with them. Then the plan was that she would come back to Ohio and we would carry on. Only she skipped the little detail about how her entire family lived the lives of fundamental Baptists down to the letter of the Bible.

To make a long story short, I went out to visit about halfway through her ‘reconnect period’ and I was informed that I would be spending eternity burning in hell. And that was just at the airport when she picked me up when her family wasn’t even around. I was thinking it was a joke, but then we got in the car and she put in a cassette of a sermon that her pastor recorded. “He’s really looking forward to meeting you,” she said. “Huh?” I said, “But what about Metallica and beer?”

The rest of the family never really told me anything about burning in hell because they didn’t really tell me anything about anything. I think her dad did say “Pick up your cigarette butts instead of leaving them in my damn driveway” once, but that was about it.

There’s a whole other story about the day that she took me to San Francisco to Pier 39 and to the torture museum, but it’s too much fun to get just a paragraph in this story. I’ll tell you all about it another time.

Ultimately, she wasn’t able to convert me to being a Baptist, so we ended in flames. The big event, which was a classic, happened on that day in San Francisco that I’ll tell you about another time. I swear to God you’ll think it’s made up, but it’s not.

But the point of this post is to tell you how to get even. See, I got back to Ohio and about a week later I got a letter from her. It was two pages. One page detailed what a loser I was. The other page detailed what a wonderful guy “a real man” she had met. Apparently he was in the Air Force, a Baptist, and had much bigger muscles than I did.

So how could I get even after a letter like that when I was 2500 miles away? It was simple. I went to my desk, got a red pencil, and I corrected her letter. I didn’t correct what she said, as in I didn’t disagree. I just corrected the grammar, punctuation, paragraph indents and repetitive words.

And if I thought there was a more effective word or phrase to express a point, I suggested it. For example, I said that “He’s a real man” was vague, so I suggested that she replace it with “He’s far more masculine.” She said that I was “retarded” and I suggested that she say that I “lack intelligence.”

You see how this works? It’s really very simple and it’s not illegal like some of the things I did in my younger years to get even. And if you think it isn’t effective, just imagine that you wrote a letter expressing raw emotions. And that it got graded and sent back. And that is the final step, by the way, to grade it. I gave the letter I got a “C”, but I wrote an encouraging note - “While I felt your passion on the subject, I did find myself distracted by some obvious grammatical errors. But it is a decent first draft and I look forward to seeing the revisions as you progress.”

I'm Such a Girl. Oh God.

2005-05-23T06:14:00.000-07:00

So the wife is still on her trip and it’s already getting old that I can fart without having to say excuse me. Oh sure, it was fun for the first few days, but I miss the way she says, “That was disgusting.” It’s just not as much fun farting when nobody cares.

It has been nice, though, to not have to watch Trading Spaces and Friends reruns. But what really ticks me off is that I actually was watching the clock and anxiously waiting for the Desperate Housewives season finale to come on. I feel like such a girl.

And at first I was really sad when Rex died, especially when Brie finished cleaning the silverware, then she sat down and cried. I felt her pain. I was there with her. And I just wanted to kill that heartless pharmacist that switched the medicine. I started thinking about it this morning and I almost cried again. Then I went out back and threw the football through a tire a couple times because it bothered me that I almost cried.

Then I read CNN.com. There was an article by someone way more clever than I am because they seem to have figured it out. Rex probably isn’t really dead. They think his doctor is setting Brie up because he thinks she poisoned Rex. I sighed relief, then I thought about what a cruel trick that was by the writers on Desperate Housewives.

The point is, my wife has made me sit and watch this stupid show and now I’m hooked. And I really don’t like Gabriel anymore because she’s a bitch. I think she and the pharmacist should hook up. If I was Carlos I would so dump the little slut and make her live in a trailer. Then I’d pretend to come to rescue her, only then I’d put a bullet in her head. But that’s just how I’d handle it.

Then, again if I was Carlos, I’d go kill Mike if Zack doesn’t do it first. Not because Mike is all that bad. It’s more that Susan is hot and I’d want her. Yeah, she’d be mad at first that I killed her boyfriend, but then when I got rich again I think she’d be okay about things because she’d be driving a sweet car.

One thing I definitely would do if I was Carlos and I got Susan is I would mow my own lawn. I think that’s a wise move for any guy after seeing what happens when you hire some college kid with six pack abs to do it for you. I can’t blame the kid because Gabriel is pretty hot. But even so, I think she needs to spend a little time in a trailer and then get a bullet in her head.

And I thought the one girl… oh crap, the one that lied so her husband’s boss wouldn’t give her husband a promotion, what the hell’s her name? Anyway, her husband so wussed out. If I was him I so would have hooked up with his old flame, then I would have gone home and put a bullet in his wife’s head. But that’s just how I’d handle it.

And then there’s Edie. How does she even get guys because she’s not really that hot? But then really, the only guys that will really hook up with her are construction workers. And have you seen the kind of women construction workers will have sex with? Some of them are pretty ugly, so Edie shouldn’t really be all uppity about herself.

The problem is, I already know that since the show is on Sunday nights, the big season premiere is going to clash with ESPN Sunday night football in the fall. What’s a boy to do?

My Wife Doesn't Understand

2005-05-18T14:58:00.000-07:00

I’ve had a lot of free time today and this is my third post, so check out my other posts today over in the side bar. Now why have I had a lot of free time? Because I’m avoiding my wife.

Here’s the deal. She’s running around like a spaz and she’s driving me nuts because she’s going to San Francisco for a week with her work. She’s like a lunatic and she keeps writing lists.

Then out of the blue, she tracks me down and tries to squeeze in some ‘us time’ because she feels bad that I don’t get to go. “You know I’d take you if I could,” she says with a pouty look on her face.

Take me with her? Is she kidding? First, I love my wife. Really. But I’m not sad that I don’t get to go. I am fucking thrilled. First of all, because I won’t get handed any more lists.

Plus I’ll be able to have some elbow room in bed for the first time in about a decade. And I’ll be able to fart without having to say “excuse me,” and I won’t have to wave my arms to get rid of the smell. Like that even works.

Best of all, I’ll actually be able to watch some TV. Yes, I know that I get to watch TV when she’s home, but what I mean is that I’ll be able to see some tits on HBO. And I won’t have to watch people argue about what colors match the drapes in another brain numbing episode of Trading Spaces. Speaking of which, what the hell was up with that whole straw on the wall thing a few years back?

Oh, and I won’t have to watch another rerun of Friends. That’s actually better than not having to watch Trading Spaces. Or, as Chandler would say – could there be a more retarded show on television? Don’t get me wrong, I used to like that show when it was funny in the first two, maybe three seasons. Then it got stupid. Then it got more stupid. Then Rachel started dating Joey and that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen on television.

It was stupider than the live, drunken Cheers farewell, and everybody knows how stupid that was. An interesting side note, though, I did meet Ted Danson once when I lived out in LA.

I used to have a way to sneak on the studio lots and I’d hang out at various ones a couple times a week. One day at Paramount I had just gotten a hot dog from one of the cart vendor guys. I took this huge bite, and then Ted Danson came walking out of the Cheers production office. He looked at me and said, “How’s that hot dog?” And I just nodded because I had my mouth full. Then he winked and shot me with a finger gun. Anyway, I always thought he was pretty nice because of that.

But he still shouldn’t have gotten drunk on the Cheers farewell. But at least it wasn’t as stupid as when Rachel started dating Joey on Friends. And the real point is that I won’t have to watch a Friends rerun for an entire week. That will be so sa-weet.

And my wife doesn’t get that. She actually thinks I want to go on the trip with her. I don’t. I want to stay home and watch soft core porn and police chase videos. And I want to spend some time on Party Poker dot com.

I don’t play with the real money on there because I’ve heard all the stories about how people get addicted to it and lose their houses. We’re still renting for a little while longer so I can’t really lose a house, but still, I might lose my car. Even though I would actually gamble my wife’s car first, especially since she’s going to be out of town and I’d feel like if I could just get one good hand, I could win it back before she got home. But if I didn’t win it back, she’d be pretty mad.

She’d say something like, “Where’s my car?” And I’d be like, “Your car? Isn’t it out front?” And she’d say, “No.” And then she’d know something was up because I would start getting nervous and then she’d give me the look. And when she gives me the look, I know that she knows that I’m lying. Then it would just be a matter of time before I told her that I lost her car gambling and I’m just telling you, she would be pretty mad.

So that’s why I don’t play with real money on Party Poker dot com. But I do play with the fake money, and I’ll be able to play with a lot of it while my wife is on her trip that she thinks I want to go on.

Adventures In Hollywood, Part 1

2005-05-18T06:44:00.000-07:00

First, I'm doing two posts today, so please check out my other post from this morning called, "It Is The Way Of My People."

And now, "Adventures In Hollywood, Part 1."

Back in the mid-80’s to early 90’s I was in Hollywood pursuing dreams of fame and fortune. At the time I was pretty sure I was going to be the next Tom Cruise. And one day I took a step toward that lofty goal when I was out hitting the pavement passing out pictures to agents.

I stopped in Beverly Hecht’s agency while her assistants were out to lunch, so I walked right into her office. She liked my look, but she said my pictures made me look a little light. She sensed my confusion and explained that ‘light’ meant that I look gay in my pictures. But she gave me a shot and told me to get new pictures that didn’t make me look gay.

So I got new pictures that didn’t make me look gay. Then Beverly started sending me out on auditions, mostly for commercials. I figured that must be how Tom Cruise got his start, so it was all just a matter of time.

And I always got call-backs, but I never seemed to nail the job. I even auditioned for Doogie Howser and The Dead Poets Society, but no luck.

Then I tried out for this sort of bit part in a national milk commercial, and I had the producers rolling in the final call back. They were literally laughing out loud. So I left the audition sure that I had finally nailed my first big dollar gig.

And sure enough, as soon as I got home, Beverly called. She said they absolutely loved me and they wanted to see me again right away to read for a bigger part in a different commercial. Sa-weet.

I zoomed back to Hollywood, grabbed my sides (that’s a fancy name for script page) and I rehearsed as fast as I could. Then I went back in to the audition room and I froze. Big time. I mean I completely choked.

So not only did I not get the bigger part in the other commercial, but I froze so bad that I didn’t get the original bit part where I had ‘em rolling in the aisles.

And mind you, the bigger commercial ran for about three months. But the other commercial that was mine to begin with ran for like five years all over the country. So even having a small part would have probably netted about fifty grand or so.

But life went on and a short time later I dazzled Susan Scudder. She was the casting director for “Hunter” starring Fred Dryer and Stephanie Kramer. So at the time, she had some clout.

Anyway, I took this class and she was the guest and we did a scene for her. She adored me and I knew what it felt like to actually be the next Tom Cruise. Then she went on to tell us that if she ever called any of us in for an audition, we should ask a lot of questions in the first audition, fewer questions in a call-back, then we shouldn’t ask anything at all if we got called back to read for the producers because it really pissed them off.

Then one day Beverly called and said that Susan Scudder wanted me to come in to read for a part on “Hunter.” I was stoked. And on the drive to the audition I remembered that I should ask a lot of questions because this was my first audition.

I got my sides and waited in the hall and I thought it was strange that there was only one other guy waiting. Usually there were a bunch of people for first auditions. I also thought the office looked really nice as compared to the other places I’d been for first auditions.

Finally they called me back and I went in for my audition. I knew how I wanted to do the scene, but I also knew that I was supposed to ask questions. I realized the scene could be read funny or straight, so I thought that would be something I could ask about.

And as I was blurting out “Do you want this funny or straight?” it dawned on me that there were guys in the room with ties on (very strange for a first audition), and one of them looked familiar. Then as the familiar looking guy sighed and looked away like he was really pissed, I realized that he was Stephen J. Cannell, the guy that produced virtually every fucking show on television at the time.

See, what happened was, Susan loved me so much from my class that she skipped the first audition and the call-back and she brought me right in for the producer’s read. Those where the times she warned us about in class, the times to never ask questions because it really pissed off her producers. And having only been to a producer’s read for commercials and not for a TV show, I didn’t realize where I was.

I did eventually realize where I was, but it was only after really pissing off her producers just like she said would happen if I asked questions. So she wasn’t even kidding a little bit when she warned us about that in class.

But what she didn’t warn us about in class was how pissed she would be. And honestly, I think she was at least as pissed as her producers. Maybe she was even more pissed because she didn’t say anything as she held open the door for me with her back turned.

While it was a learning experience, I wouldn’t call it a ‘good’ learning experience because it sucked. And I never heard from Susan Scudder again.

But I did finally get a break when I actually got a national commercial. And not only was it a national commercial, but it also included print ads and my face even got plastered on billboards from coast to coast. It just happened that it was from coast to coast in Japan and I got the part of the nerdiest punk rocker in history for the moderately popular Japanese Half-Time Soda, which was really more like chocolate milk.

They called the job a ‘buy-out’ spot, which was another way of saying, “We won’t be paying you much to begin with, and you don’t get residuals.” They can do that for commercials that don’t show in America. And I think that after agency fees and taxes, I netted about four hundred dollars. But then I thought about how Tom Cruise probably started this way, so everything was going along exactly as planned.

And there’s more, including the exciting time I worked for a big-time, A-List producer. But I’ll save that story for “Adventures in Hollywood, Part 2.”

It Is The Way Of My People

2005-05-18T04:38:00.000-07:00

I’m here to help today. No, really. See, when you do something stupid and you’re left with nothing to say, I have the answer.

Here’s an example. I was laying in bed the other night and my wife was dozing off. I thought how funny it would be to fart and pull the covers over her head. So I farted and pulled the covers over her head. She didn’t think it was funny, and she said, “Why the hell did you do that?” And I answered, “Because it is the way of my people.”

She tried to stay angry, but it caught her so off guard that she laughed. It was one of those laughs where I could tell that she was mad because she didn’t want to laugh. She wanted to be mad at me for farting and pulling the covers over her head.

I consider it my ace in the hole. “Why the hell were you late for work again today?” “Because it is the way of my people.” You see? It works everywhere.

And sometimes you can flip it back. “Do you know why I pulled you over, sir?” “Because it is the way of your people?” “Affirmative. Now put down your beer, step out of the car and puts your hands behind your head.” Okay, maybe don’t flip it back on a cop because they are trained not to laugh even when something is funny.

It also doesn’t work on kids. “Why are you the meanest dad in the world?” “Because it is the way of my people.” “I hate you” – stomp-stomp-stomp-slam.

But on wives and other adults, it’s a gem. Give it a try next time a co-worker says, “Why did you eat my Twinkie?” “Because it is the way of my people.” It’s a hoot.

I Don't Get That

2005-05-17T04:57:00.000-07:00

There are certain things in this world that don’t make sense. I’m not talking about big things like war, because at some level war is not that tough to understand. I don’t agree with it, but I get why it happens.

I’m talking about the simple things. Like when my wife makes tomato soup. You know the directions; empty contents into pan, add one can full of water, heat, serve. And that’s basically what my wife does, except that after she empties the soup into the pan, she rinses the can out before she fills it with the can full of water. I don’t get that.

And what about people with little yip-yap dogs. The only thing about little dogs that’s cool is the idea of punting one. Now I wouldn’t ever punt a dog, I love animals. But the idea of punting a small dog is funny, and I would do it if I was brought up differently. But owning one? I don’t get that.

And did you know that there are women who sell their used underwear on ebay? Yeah, and people that buy it. In a twisted way I sort of get that, but then I don’t because there are places called strip clubs. Plus there’s always internet porn…or so I’ve heard.

Then there was the guy in England, or maybe it was Scotland. He was drunk in a pub watching a soccer game and he said that he would cut off his balls if his team lost. So when his team lost, he cut off his balls. Who the hell actually does that? The only possible benefit to cutting off your own balls is for when people stop by and say, “Hey, what’s in that jar on your coffee table?” Otherwise, I definitely don’t get it.

And how are there companies that stay in business by making fruit cake? Raise your hand if you like fruit cake. See what I mean? It’s like going to a restaurant and ordering leftovers.

And I don’t get anyone that has more than one cat. I can understand one because they are cute when they’re kittens. But then six months later they’re a cat. But then some people actually, swear to God, go get another one. I know this because I have four, and I completely don’t get that.

Then there’s clothes for cement geese. Seriously. There is an industry of cement geese makers, and another industry for cement geese clothes makers. It can only be supported by the same people that think fruit cake is a treat.

And what about people that watch marathons. I don’t get that. They get there early for a good seat to watch people jog. Then to make things even more retarded, the people only jog by them once. What the hell is there to even talk about? “Here they come,” then a few seconds later, “there they go.” Then, “well, we better hurry to beat the traffic.”

And why are hot models attracted to ugly guys? The whole trend kicked off with Christie Brinkley and Billy Joel. I mean Christ, he wasn’t even a rock star. Then there was Rick Ocasek and Paulina Plalala (what ever the hell her name was). He was a rock star, but come on, I made fun of people that looked like him in high school and I wasn’t even popular. And recently there was Seal and Heidi Klum. I don’t get that one at all.

And in closing, I don't get why I subscribe to Reader's Digest. The jokes are never funny, but I still read every single one of them from "Laughter is the Best Medicine" to "Humor in Uniform." So if they aren't funny, why do I read them? Maybe you're asking yourself a similar question as you finish my blog entry for today.

Oh, and thank you to stepmonster for encouraging me along while none of you other bastards can take the time to leave a comment.

The Mystery of the Five Apples

2005-05-13T04:35:00.000-07:00

If there’s five apples and you take away two, how many do you have? If you said three, try again because you’re wrong. And you also know what it’s like to live with my wife because everything she asks me is deceptively worded and I pay, even though I think I’ve answered correctly.

To explain, let’s take another look at the apples. If there’s five apples and you take away two, how many do you have? Well, since you took away two, then you have two since that’s what’s in your hands that you took away. There would be three left on the table for other people to choose from.

Now that it’s clear, you can understand just how dangerous it is when my wife says something like, “Oh God, I’m too fat to wear these jeans.” Because usually I say something like, “No, they look great,” and I anxiously await a pat on the head and some praise for making her feel good about herself. Then she informs me that I’m cold hearted, only she does it without saying anything. It’s just that look see angles my direction as she slams the bathroom door.

See, again, it was all in the wording. I was supposed to say, “You’re not fat and you look great” because, as she explains, the first response actually meant, “yeah, you are fat, but the jeans themselves look great.”

And if you break down the linguistics of what I said, “No, they look great,” she’s right about the ‘pants’ part because my words only referred to the pants looking great. Then she adds her own twisted girl-brain spin and concludes that I think she’s a fat cow.

The point is, with women, statements are actually questions, and they never include what men are specifically supposed to respond to. For example, let’s say it’s sunny and ninety degrees out, and my wife is standing by an open window. She might say, “I wish it was nice enough to wear shorts today.”

My guy-brain instantly goes to work - hmm, ninety degrees and sunny, so there must be some reason she doesn’t want to go outside. So I blurt out, “Yeah, I think it’s supposed to rain.” I think I’m justifying whatever reason it is that she doesn’t want to go do something, therefore I will get my pat on the head and some praise.

But what I missed was the fact that she wants to go outside, and she also wants to wear shorts, but she thinks she’s too fat to wear shorts. So by mentioning that it might rain, and therefore suggesting that we shouldn’t go outside, I am basically saying – “Honey, don’t even think of putting on shorts until you lose some tonnage, because if you do go out in shorts, I definitely don’t want to be seen with you because I have a level of pride about not be seen with fat chicks.”

Then there are the questions that seem direct enough. Ones like, “Do I look fat in these jeans.” Obviously, if I ever want sex again, I don’t say, “yes.” But even answering “no” is pretty tricky. See, if I just say, “no,” then her twisted logic hears it as, “well, they don’t make you look fat even though you are fat.”

What’s messed up about this stuff is there is no manual, and the rules change daily. One thing that is consistent about the rules, though, is that I always lose. Even if I get lucky one day and answer the way she is expecting me too, then she says, “Oh, you’re just saying that.” Then I kick a hole in the wall and take a walk.

I Broke My Funny Bone

2005-05-11T06:09:00.000-07:00

I’m in a ‘funny’ rut. I was feeling pretty funny for a while there, then nothing. Here’s how bad it is. I was at brunch the other day and I was talking to this guy outside while I was having a smoke. He started telling me about how his roast beef was cold, and then he farted without blinking an eye like he thought I might not notice. It was one of those little sneak-out farts. I didn’t even crack a smile.

Then yesterday I was sitting on my porch and this kid came skateboarding down the sidewalk. He hit a crack and flew headfirst into the pavement. And I’m not talking about an older teenage kid, I’m talking about a seven year old. But I couldn’t even muster a giggle. I mean, can you actually break your funny bone?

Then I sprinkled catnip all over Scooby to try and shake something loose. That usually cracks me up for a while because she’s such a weenie cat and it’s hilarious when the other cats chase her around the house trying to get the catnip off her. She usually ends up under the couch while the other three cats wait beside it and swat at anything that moves. But I got bored pretty much right off the bat and just headed to my room to watch The New Detectives.

Oh my God, I completely forgot. My son even has his first zit right on the side of his chin. It’s a huge whitehead that you can see from across the room. He talks out of the other side of his mouth like it will distract us from it. And still, nothing. Not a smirk, no teasing, nothing. What the hell’s wrong with me?

I even put in Tommy Boy and fast-forwarded to my favorite song “Fat Guy In a Little Coat.” Zip. Zero. Nada.

Worse than that, my wife asked me if I wanted to watch The Big Chill and I said yes. Then I bought her a card and wrote a serious love poem about how I cherish the day that we met. And she ended up falling asleep with her head on my lap and I actually got up to go in the other room to fart.

Then someone stopped while I was out in the yard and asked for directions, and I actually told them how to get where they wanted to go. It was even an old lady, the kind I usually direct to the funeral home. I mean that’s funny stuff, but I completely passed in favor or good taste.

I’m scared, man. This isn’t right. Any suggestions would be a big help.

"Do You Like This Shirt?"

2005-05-05T15:17:00.000-07:00

My wife asked me that the other day, as she has many times in the past. But the thing is, she never asks me if I like shirts that are a slam dunk that everybody likes. It’s always when she gets some designer knock-off from Target that has a weird collar and a sewn-on brooch shaped like a wheat bundle.

And she always asks five minutes before it‘s time to hit the town for a night of dinner and drinks, not right when she gets it while she still has the receipt and can still return it. That would make it so much easier for me to be honest.

And there’s a process to it that is very deceitful. She has the bag in her hand and she tells me that she has a surprise for me. Naturally I think, “sweet, a double header,“ because I think it’s crotch-less panties and I’m getting a little of the good stuff before our night on the town. And she smiles sort of shy and closes the bathroom door.

I assume I have just minutes to fluff the pillows and find the handcuffs. So I hurry around the room getting ready for what I think is about to happen. I even strike my sexy pose - that’s when I strip down and just stick my leg out from under the cover so she can’t be completely sure if I’m naked.

Then I wait… and wait… and wonder exactly how long it takes to slip on a pair of crotch-less panties that are pretty much coming right back off as soon as she comes back in the room. And the minutes tick off and I think, “Come on, come on, let’s get this show on the road. Chop-chop.”

Then she finally comes out fully fricken’ dressed like she’s ready to actually leave. Damn it, I misunderstood again. Then I notice her shirt and I think she’s robbed my mom’s closet. And she doesn’t even notice my sexy pose, she just asks me if I like her new shirt. And she has this look on her face that says, “you can crush me and spend the entire night rebuilding my confidence, or you can tell me it looks great and enjoy dinner and drinks.”

The problem is, while she wears this meek little smile and awaits praise, I’m thinking about the fact that she actually spent money on that shirt. I want to ask how much, and I hope to hear that it didn’t cost much. But I realize the gravity of the situation. She seriously bought it brand new off the rack, probably for more than forty dollars, and she’s definitely not wearing crotch-less panties.

Then her meek smile turns to a frown and she goes back in the bathroom and slams the door. Oh God, I’ve failed the three second test. The three second test means that I have three seconds to smile and say, “Wow, it looks great.” Otherwise, I’m looking at hard time sitting by the bathroom door explaining that I just had something in my eye.

If and/or when she comes back out, the three second test no longer applies. If I blurt out how nice it looks too fast, she knows I’m just hungry. I have to step back and take in the whole outfit, make it seem like I’m really thinking about it, then give a pleasing nod and a heartfelt compliment.

I’m writing this now because my wife just got back from shopping. She showed me everything except what was in one bag, and we’re supposed to go out for dinner tonight. I’m pretty sure it’s not crotch-less panties because it was in a Target bag. But Christ, I’m nervous to see what she’s expecting me to like this time.

The Picture is Real

2005-05-04T05:09:00.000-07:00

Nobody asked, but I figured I’d clarify the parachuting picture in my profile (click on it to enlarge). Yes it’s really me, and yes it’s for real. There’s no Ashley Simpson tom-foolery going on here. So yes, I was that scared. And so no, I’m not kidding when I say parachuting is not an interest.

It was an interest. But it’s not anymore. I completely accept that I’ll never make any of the armed service elite forces. I’m okay with that because jumping out of an airplane is fucking retarded.

The funny thing was, on the way to the airfield I knew they had a camera on the wing of the plane, so I was thinking of how I would pose. I thought the casual arms behind my head, legs crossed, hammock pose would be cool. Then I thought the smiling, winking, thumbs-up pose would be pretty original. Then we hit 3000 feet and they opened the door.

My instructor for the pre-jump classes was really a hoot. He was well versed in what I like to call “funny parachute instructor jokes.” For example, in explaining the need for an emergency parachute he said that if you don’t have one and there’s a problem with the main chute, then “You hit what we like to call fast dirt.” Then he laughed in a way that indicated that we should think it was funny too.

And I did laugh. I even thought it was a little funny until he said, “but seriously.” Because then he went on to describe (like we really needed to know) how fast human bodies accelerate, and that they usually hit ‘fast dirt’ at around 122 miles per hour. I did the math on it and concluded that it would hurt, but probably only for an instant before my ass shot through the top of my head.

I’ve never even been in a car that went 122 miles per hour. I’ve been in a 1976 Pinto that hit a telephone pole at 35 miles an hour, though, and I knew that hurt quite a bit. So I could reasonably assume that higher speeds would directly correlate to more intense pain, however brief it might be before I exploded. And I would have headed for the parking lot except that on the way to the airfield I was teasing my friend about what a pussy he was because I figured he’d chicken out.

Well he didn’t chicken out. In fact he laughed at all the “funny parachute instructor jokes.” And he even laughed at the jokes a second time as he recalled them when we were outside having a smoke. “That guy is fucking hilarious,” he’d say. “Fast dirt – that’s fucking funny, man.”

Then up in the plane the little brown-noser even volunteered to jump first. And what did he do when he let go? He stole my smiling, winking pose (even though by then I had no intention of doing anything but screaming when I let go).

I don’t really remember the actual descent because all I saw was my parachute. If it was going to collapse and send me spiraling to my death, I wanted to know right away because I’m funny that way.

Now what I didn’t know was that my friend’s address was the primary address on the paperwork for where to send the pictures. So after I got to the ground and pissed my pants, I realized that I had to make it look good for my friend. He was all jumping around like he just won a prize fight and was king of the world.

So I got up (actually I got up twice because the first time my knees buckled and I fell back down) and made it look like I too was feeling the rush. I did the whole high-five thing and we talked about how awesome it was. “Hell yeah,” I said, “we’re doing that again, bitch.”

Then a few weeks later he got the pictures. And unbeknownst to me, there was also a photographer on the ground with a zoom lens that captured my horror about ten times from about two hundred feet all the way to the ground.

So you may be wondering if I’ll ever parachute again. Hmm… probably not. In fact I don’t even jump out bed anymore.

Arrest Jennifer Wilbanks? You Bet Your Ass!

2005-05-03T19:30:00.000-07:00

Should the police file charges against Jennifer Wilbanks, the runaway bride? That’s the ridiculous question of the day on cnn.com. Are those people really so stupid they have to ask?

This is really simple, okay? YES, they absolutely should file charges against her. And then I think they should press charges against guests who don’t show up at weddings. After that they need to start going after people who don’t show up for lunch.

All of them need to be prosecuted to the full extent of the law because weddings and lunch dates are government controlled events. And besides that, the Constitution clearly states that it’s against the law to hurt someone’s feelings.

Damn, it’s about time the government stepped up to the plate on this. It’s been a long time coming and I’m glad it’s finally here. Because when people don’t let other people know that they need some alone time or that they’re not hungry, they need to pay. Out the ass.

I remember this time a girl stood me up for a date, and man, it still burns me. And just like they did with Jennifer Wilbanks, I looked everywhere for her. I drove by her apartment pretty much all night, then I drove by her ex-boyfriend’s house probably three or four times, and I even waited in the parking lot of this bar for a while.

But back then the police didn’t really enforce the “oh, if they didn’t call then you can have them arrested” law, so I was out of luck. I bet I spent fifteen dollars on gas that night, and I barely slept. I’m just glad no one else has to go through what I did. It’s comforting to know some of you young guys will have a way to get back your gas money.

But I can’t help wishing I could turn back the clock and have that bitch arrested. The fucking whore. And what I could have done with that gas money? Man, I hate to think.

And the point is, it’s not just against the law, it’s rude to not call. And that’s the other point, it’s about time that being rude is finally illegal too. It’s like the enfaertos of Flatulonia used to say, “He who doth not travel the horizon to bring’th word of his lack of presence shall for ever be liable to the Lord and the elders of the house of rule.” (For more on the enfaertos of Flatulonia, please see my post about them in the archives).

And it’s also like my friend Roger used to say when his girlfriend blew him off. He’d say, “That bitch owes me!” And he was right. So I’m all for locking Jennifer Wilbanks up, then suing the hell out of her.

The Stick People Of Ohio, Part One

2005-05-02T12:50:00.000-07:00

I hope to make this a regular series on the site, unless you think it's stupid. This is part-one of a two-part episode called, "Scooby's Dead."

My Evil Step Sister

2005-05-02T06:04:00.000-07:00

My step-sister used to be evil. I’m serious, she was truly evil, and she lived to share her gift (of being evil).

She was mean to everybody, but especially to me. She’d do insidious little things. Like she knew I loved KISS, and she knew I couldn’t wait to get the new “KISS Originals” three record set. She, on the other hand, didn’t really like KISS. But she hated me more than she didn’t like KISS, and her birthday came before mine. So what did she put at the top of her list? “KISS Originals,” just so she could rub it in my face that she had it first. I was crushed.

Then there was the time I told my dad that I was going to save my allowance for a few weeks and donate it to the Ohio State Football scholarship fund. I was about eleven and I would cry when the Buckeyes lost because I loved them so much. My evil step sister, on the other hand, didn’t care much for the Buckeyes. But she already had some allowance saved up and she covertly sent it off before I even had a quarter. So you can imagine my horror when she received an Ohio State Media Guide signed by Woody Hayes as a thank you for her retarded four dollar donation.

There were other things, and as I continue therapy I’ll remember more and more. Like the time we took a break from carving pumpkins one Halloween. I was shocked when she took the time to make homemade orange juice, and then she offered me the first glass. I wanted to refuse, but man, I loved orange juice. Then I learned that orange juice and watered-down pumpkin guts look almost identical. Then I was the one that got in trouble for hitting her in the head with a shoe.

And that was the way it worked. She would do some little evil psychological mind-fuck that no one could prove, then I would hit her in the head with a shoe. You could set your watch by it. And every single time, since what I did left a mark, I was the one who got grounded and sent to my room. And when I was grounded in my room, those were the only times she ever played her “KISS Originals” records, and always just loud enough for me to hear.

I truly hated her and I prayed for the day she would burn in a fiery hell. So you can imagine how disappointed I was when she grew up and started being nice. What a let down. All those years of imagining horrible ways for her to die and how I’d have to hold back my joy at her funeral, and all of it was going straight down the drain because she changed her ways.

I mean, it’s cool she changed her ways and all, but I wanted my revenge first. Then, by all means, change away until your heart’s content if you survive what ever hell you have to pay.

Like I wanted her to maybe lose an arm in a car wreck (keep in mind that I was young when I thought of these things). Or maybe it would be funny if she had kids that didn’t have legs so she’d have to carry them around for the rest of her life. One of my favorites was imagining her falling off the roof and getting impaled on the iron fence in the back yard. She would survive the fall and I would be the only one home, and I would just watch her flail and scream and throw up blood.

But again, all of those dreams died when she started being nice. No one-armed car wrecks, no falling off the roof, and she eventually even had two kids who both had all of their limbs. It’s like that baseball game when you were a kid when all you needed to do was get the ball out of the infield and you would have won the big game. But you grounded out to the shortstop. You come to terms with it as you get older, but you just can’t help but think, “What if.”

'E' Tickets and Happy Tunnel Rides

2005-05-01T11:17:00.000-07:00

How is it that I can’t remember any of my dreams, but my wife remembers every dream she has? What she was wearing, if her shoes matched, and if they were on sale. She may have gotten chased by a guy with a chain saw in the basement, but somehow she remembers she had on “those cute little shoes I got at the mall that I didn’t like at first that are sort of slippery.”

And she doesn’t just have a dream, it’s always the weirdest dream. And I can’t remind her that she had the weirdest dream the night before, and every night before that since we met. And I definitely can’t remind her that I‘d rather smack myself in the forehead with a hammer than listen to another dream. All I can do is smile and say, “Uh-huh, so… so what happened?”

Then I sit… and listen… and watch her mouth move. I don’t really hear what she’s saying except for the occasional, “Can you believe that?” or “Chainsaw” or “Don’t you think that’s strange?” And most of the time, no, I don’t think it’s strange. I think it’s painful. But I don’t answer. I just do a half-nod because anything else might imply genuine interest… which would mean more details… and more minutes of my life… gone… forever.

It was different before we got married. When she wanted to tell me about a dream, I’d get a little tingle inside because I still couldn’t believe I found someone who would have sex with me on a regular basis. So I’d listen to dream after dream, all the while thinking, “I‘ve seen you naked.” And I knew that every dream I listened to was like buying an ‘E’ ticket for a good ride. A naked one.

But the dreams were different then. They started with things like, “So we were walking on the beach and there was this little bamboo hut and nobody was home.” And she’d smile and give me the ’E’ ticket look that said, “pay attention and Little Roscoe gets to ride in front on the Happy Tunnel ride.”

Then we got married and the dreams changed to things like, “Now don’t take this the wrong way, but when the killer took off their mask, it was your mom.“ You see the difference? Dating - fun dreams. Married – not fun dreams.

Some people say men don‘t cry, but we do, every time our wives say “I had the weirdest dream last night.” And you can understand why we keep it inside until we have some time alone. First we cry, then we have our own dreams. Dreams about ‘E’ tickets and Happy Tunnel rides.

And oddly enough, wives don’t want to hear about our dreams. Of course that might be because there’s more than one Happy Tunnel ride in our amusement park. And sometimes our wives bring along some girls they just met at the tanning salon who are curious to see what the Happy Tunnel ride is like. And then… well, maybe I better shut the hell up.

A Little Bit About Myself

2005-04-30T19:05:00.000-07:00

Well, I’m actually a pretty influential guy. You want proof? Okay. Does the movie Star Wars ring a bell? How about Total Recall? Or There’s Something About Mary? What do all of those movies have in common as having to do with me being influential? It may surprise you, but those three movies and seven more are on the top ten list of my favorite movies that I’ve recommended to friends and family. Surprised?

Well it doesn’t stop there, I have all kinds of top ten lists that I recommend. Like my list of the top ten seasons of American Idol. Well, actually that list is only up to four so it’s a top-four list, but I intend to keep working on it. But the list is: 1) Season Two, 2) Season Three, 3) Season One, and 4) Season Four.

I’ll tell you this, though, the top ten list of cars I’ve owned definitely doesn’t include that 1976 Pinto that I ran into a telephone poll. Oddly enough, after I wrecked it, my dad’s reaction definitely made my top ten list of the maddest people I’ve ever seen.

My mom also made the list of maddest people the time I got arrested in high school when I had this huge party at her house while she was out of town. But give me a break. When you invite ten people, you don’t expect a hundred and fifty. And you certainly don’t expect someone to start yapping about how they know their Constitutional rights and about how retarded the police are (I’ve since learned to keep my mouth shut when the police show up).

Which brings me to some of the top ten things you should never say to the police. For example, don’t say, “Then get a warrant for I all I fucking care,” because they will, and way faster than you can imagine. And definitely don’t try to guess how many doughnuts you think they’ve eaten in their life. They don‘t give you a prize, even if you‘re close. Plus, most of them don’t have a sense of humor, but most do carry a gun and handcuffs.

And speaking of handcuffs, a pair of them were a part of the top ten worst experiences of my life. Oddly enough it didn’t have anything to do with the police. It had to do with a very deceptive ad in the back of the newspaper. Just because someone has large breasts does not mean they’re a girl. Find out before you’re handcuffed to a bed.

Switching gears, my top ten cats are Simba, Scooby, Daisy and Whacko. I know that’s not ten, but I don’t have ten. Which brings me to some of the top ten stupid things people do. Topping the list is getting more than one cat. Second is getting any cats because some of the top ten things cats spend their time doing is throwing up, eating and laying on my newspaper.

Oh, there’s plenty more and I’ll share them all eventually. But for now I just wanted to give you hint. You know, sort of break the ice.

Corey Feldman Ruined My Hat

2005-04-30T06:44:00.000-07:00

A few years back, my wife and I decided to go to L.A. and Las Vegas. We started in Vegas and we sprung for the Little Buccaneer Suite at Treasure Island. Sorry, that still cracks me up - the Little Buccaneer Suite. It was a pretty sweet room with two doors and everything, but come on, call it the Rugged Pirate Suite or something cool.

A cool suite name would have made it easier to accept it when we lost all of our money. Okay, so actually I lost our money. My wife likes to remind me of my three hundred dollar cup of coffee. She kids about it, but it’s the kind of kidding where she smiles, but I know she’s imaging something involving a hammer and my balls. See, I said I was just going down for a cup of coffee, and, well, figure it out.

A little advice, though - just because you’ve lost about ten hands of blackjack in a row doesn’t mean you’re due on the next hand no matter how many twenties you slam down on the table in frustration. And definitely make sure that if you survive on coffee in the morning that you save enough money to actually buy your coffee in the morning.

So anyway, after I accompanied my wife on a consolatory, credit card supported, three hundred dollar shopping spree in the casino gift shop, we hopped in our rented purple Neon and headed West to L.A. It would have been reminiscent of the original journeys made by early American pioneers, except that we hit stop and go traffic the whole way and we had to stop at a check point where they asked us if we had any fruit.

I remember the highlight of the drive was when we passed a truck full of huge logs and I said, “hehe, that truck has wood.” My wife doesn’t like to encourage me, so she gave me a blank stare, but I caught her looking away to hide a giggle. She hates to admit it, but I’ve even caught her holding back a laugh when I fart in Scooby’s face (that’s one of our cats). I don’t just fart in Scooby’s face, though. Usually I talk in that high pitched excited voice and go, “Kitty want a treat? Huh? Kitty want a treat?” Then I give her what I consider to be a treat.

So maybe you’re wondering exactly how Corey Feldman ruined my hat. I’ll get to it, I promise. And yes, he truly did ruin my hat and I’m still angry about it. But I’m building up to it after learning from the wisdom of my wife. She says I don’t have any concept of foreplay, so I told her I‘m practicing through my writing. I even told her that this morning and she just sighed and shook her head, then she said she’s running out of batteries. I’m not sure what she meant.

But L.A., yeah, we made it. First we tracked down my old pal Charles who I’ve known since he lived in Ohio. He was my acting agent in Ohio, but when we were in L.A. he was a casting assistant for a show called Boy Meets World (more on that in a later post). He was the one who got me a national commercial for Bob Evans restaurants where I played the nerdy guy in a group of office workers headed off for a meal after a hard day of work.

Since Charles had connections, he got us signed on to some studio lots and we wandered around like we belonged. It was sort of fun at Universal because the tour trolleys would pass by and the tourists would stare at us trying to figure out if we were famous. Some guys wearing work gloves even let us take an unguided tour of the Friends set, but they told us if we took any pictures that they would break our arms. And I’m pretty sure they weren’t kidding because they kept staring at us and one guy kept cracking his knuckles, almost like they were hoping we’d take a picture.

Then one day we were driving around and we saw all these lights and ropes and trucks and cameras in Beverly Hills. Curious, we parked our car and decided to take a look. Turns out it was Oscar night and we had stumbled across the Vanity Fair After-Oscar party.

They had this sort of prison-like fenced-in area right in the middle of the street for the tourists to stand in for when the stars arrived. So we hung out and waited… and waited… and waited. And while we waited, the kind folks of Vanity Fair brought out a box full of souvenir hats with “Vanity Fair” and the image of an Oscar on them.

What a treat, I thought, a cool hat. Plus we had a great spot right along the fence, so the stars were going to literally be within arms reach when they came later and we might be able to get some autographs on the hat to go with what were sure to be sweet photos.

And finally the limos starting pulling up and the stars began to arrive. Most just stopped for a second to give us fence people a quick photo-op, but it was like the zoo where they knew better than to approach the cage. So no autographs right off the bat.

But hey, there was Dolly Parton, and look, that’s Tim Allen. Holy cow! Mick Jagger! Then some people we didn’t recognize, but we took their pictures just in case (now I know how the Universal trolley people felt).

Then there was Jeff Gordon (what the hell was he doing there? Oh, well -- click, click). Dennis Rodman waltzed through looking completely gay, but I didn’t say anything because he’s probably not gay and he could definitely whip my ass.

Hey, that’s Cuba Gooding Jr. with his best supporting actor Oscar and he’s hugging Larry King. Just a side note here, but if I ever win an Oscar, Larry King will not be my choice for who to hug when there’s a bunch of people around with cameras. And even though no one was signing our hat, we were getting some great pictures, except of that one of Cuba Gooding hugging Larry King.

Then Will Smith and Jada swung through, which was really exciting for my wife because she has the hots for Will Smith. I’m not crazy about that, but being a guy, I thought that maybe I could hook us up with Jada and then it would be cool. Anyway, then Woody Harrelson and Larry Flynt came by and we got some great photos.

Then finally Jay Leno took our hat and gave us our first autograph. Jay wasn’t the best catch of the lot, but it was a start. Then Tom Arnold signed, and again, not eBay gold by any means, but it still was helping to get the ball rolling.

Then Steven Segal was approaching with his entourage. I’m not a fan, but I know a lot of people are that go on eBay, so I was going to give it a go. Closer… closer… I stuck out my hat… he looked our way but was still just out of reach… he grabbed some girl’s hat that had big boobs and signed (her hat, not her boobs) -- then I was blindsided -- my hat, where did it go?

Noooooo! I looked to my left and Corey Feldman had approached from the other side, the dark side, and he had his own pen. Before I could gather my senses, he had already signed my hat and he gave it back to me with a smile. I feel to my knees and wept. This will never sell now, I thought. Never.

I mean the whole trip was great and everything, but W.T.F.? How did Corey Feldman get on the other fricken side of the fence? I know they had security there, but yet he walked right up, stole my hat, ruined it, and no one did anything. Nothing. Cops everywhere, but they didn’t even flinch. I even told one what happened and he just shrugged. And I’m thinking, wait, you have a booth out in the middle of the desert to make sure I don’t bring a fucking orange into Los Angeles, but theft, destruction of property and mental anguish is okay? Am I the only one confused here?

Who Cut The Cheese: The Role of the Enfaerto

2005-04-29T13:21:00.000-07:00

In modern Western cultures, the biological process of “passing gas” (commonly known as farting) is often referred to in social situations as cutting the cheese. What many don’t know is that the history of “cutting the cheese” in modern definitions can be traced back to the 1st century A.D. But in it’s original meaning, it was associated with a blessing of the sacred, as opposed to the implication today that expresses the displeasure of a foul odor - usually from human biological gas expelled from the anus.

Since cutting the cheese is considered as a parallel to fart in modern linguistics, let us begin there. The word fart is derived from the Flatulonian word enfaerto, which roughly translates as, to burn of the fire. While in the modern era, “to burn of the fire” could stand as an analogy for the passing of biological gas, the early Flatulonian definition meant something quite different. To fully understand the Flatulonian meaning, it is important to understand more about their culture in the time the word enfaerto was added to their vocabulary.

The Flatulonians were a small sect of early Christian followers who created a formal society in the late 1st century A.D. near the Euphrates River. While they developed numerous religious texts, some even referred to in the New Testament, they are better known for developing a food similar to what we know of today as cheese.

While we wouldn’t recognize it today as cheese, it involved many of the same production processes still used in today’s cheese industry. The primary difference was that its active culturing ingredient was limestone powder which caused it to be quite hard until it went through an extensive softening process. For more on the Flatulonian influence on modern cheese, see Bowheul Mouevemont’s 1948 book, The Flatulonian Influence On Modern Cheese. Here we will only refer to the basics of his research.

So intricate was the Flatulonian process of making cheese that the entire community would participate in the manufacture. The whole process was long and took many days, as noted by Bowheuls Mouevemont’s work, and it was referred to as flatulence in self-honor of the Flatulonians who developed the process. Though to be more specific, the word flatulence loosely translates as, to breathe of the odor from it‘s Source which was a religious analogy meant to convey that one has a spiritual part (expressed as breath) in God’s (the source) creation (the eternal odor of life).

The most difficult part of the process was when the cheese was divided into sections before going into the extensive softening process. It involved a highly skilled worker, called an enfaerto (a fart), who manipulated a heated iron from a powerful furnace to essentially burn the cheese into pieces. The iron was in the shape of a circle called the ring of fire that produced uniform pieces on a very regular basis.

It seems a ridiculous process in the modern era where we simply use a blade, but again, the limestone culturing made it hard enough that it could only be parceled out with great heat and force. So to put it into the perspective of modern terms, an enfaerto (or one who burns of the fire) was one who cut the cheese.

So now it is clear where the modern parallel between fart (enfaerto) and cutting the cheese was derived since it was the enfaerto who cut the cheese as part of the end process of flatulence. But it only makes sense in a purely linguistic sense, because it still does not explain how the terms were virtually turned upside down by comparison from the time of the Flatulonians to the modern era.

While today “cutting the cheese” (as noted above) is associated with a foul odor from biological gas expelled from an anus, it was quite a different story in the time of the enfaertos of Flatulence. Through the enfaerto’s role in the flatulence process, they commonly developed a permanent odor that many say could be smelled from some distance. In John 4:19 of the New Testament, a priest in mourning for the loss of his cattle suddenly sits in hurried attention, then speaks of the presence of an enfaerto.

O, dearest God, My Lord,
whilst I seeth him not for he is silent,
I know of his presence by the nose
You have blessed to me.
I pray to Thee that the enfaerto
near’r my door
is of Your blessing, and not that
of Satan who is likewise of
similar aroma and silence,
but he be’th silent and deadly.

After which an enfaerto entered the priest’s abode and was met with great joy, now surely to be of God and not of Satan. Then the priest wraps him in garments from his bed to save the oder so later he could “freshen my home with the scent of heaven.”

But it’s important to note the use of the word aroma as associated with a Godly smell of heaven (though apparently one that could be imitated by Satan). That clearly implies that the smell of an enfaerto was considered a pleasant smell. It is even referred to in John 8:19 to be “surely as wond’rous a smell as one would find in Eden.”

The reasoning is that the cheese food made by the Flatulonians was considered sacred by many, and it was often gorged on after times of fasting to “replenish one’s soul.” Some modern scholars even put the Flatulonians further back in history and claim that the Three Wise Men smelled of enfaertos and often spoke of the cutting of the cheese on their journey to bring gifts to Jesus that included blessed cheese. But the evidence supporting this new theory is certainly debatable.

Not debatable is the fact that often times enfaertos were greeted with a waving of the hands in the shape of a cross across one‘s chest. A tradition that has been grossly distorted in modern days as a waving of the hands to diffuse a foul smell - an act that would have been considered blasphemous in the time of the Flatulonians.

But in the verse quoted above, there is also a hint at where the modern understanding of enfaerto, or fart, comes from. It notes that Satan could imitate the smell of enfaertos in an act of deceit, an act considered of equal catastrophic importance by many modern Biblical historians to the deceit of Eve in the Garden of Eden.

In fact an entire culture developed on that deceit who called themselves the Flatualites who intentionally used a similar name for deceit. While they too made cheese, it was considered unholy and not favored by God. Many mistook them for Flatulonians based on their odors, but it was often a fateful mistake that lead to a truly foul odor that “even the Lord could not cleanse” for some time after contact.

And so, that is where it is believed the modern interpretation of fart derived. Not from the original enfaertos of the Flatulonians, but from the truly foul smelling Flatualites. Unfortunately, in a religious and historical sense, the original Flatulonians mysteriously disappeared in the 3rd century, but the Flatualites persevered as nomadic cheese tribes who sold their unholy cheese in a way similar to the quack medicinal salesmen of the 1800’s.

Over time it is believed that history simply lost touch with the holy Flatulonians and only knew of the foul smelling Flatualites and their deceitful enfaertos. Eventually they simply became known as the people who cut the unholy cheese, then later as Fart Nomads of the East, and finally just as the Farts. The latter being the name that has persisted through modern times as reflecting an unholy and foul odor.

The Picture Of Her Boyfriend

2005-04-29T04:23:00.000-07:00

There are moments in life that you just can’t plan for. Split seconds where you either have the right thing to say, or you spend the night wishing you’d thought of the right thing to say.

I was in high school living with my mom, and my sister just got back from college for summer break. My mom and her friend Kathy were having a glass of wine on the porch while my sister finished bringing in her suitcases. I was just hanging out doing nothing.

The big news was that my sister had a new boyfriend and nobody had met him yet. She had a picture of him buried in one of her suitcases, and Kathy kept bugging her to find it. So just inside the screen door, my sister was digging through looking for it.

Finally Kathy said, “Did you come to his picture yet?” And I said, “That’s a little personal, Kathy. But if she hasn’t, I’m sure she will when she starts missing him and has some alone time.”

It was the only time in my life that I’ve seen wine come out of my mom’s nose. Kathy had to think about it for a minute, then she laughed. My sister has one of those silent laughs so I had to open the screen door to make sure she got it. She did.

I have to brag about that moment because it was one of the rare times that I didn’t miss my split second of opportunity. It made up for all the times that somebody called me a name, and I went, “Yeah, well…well…well quit talking about yourself.”

The Secret of Trebenchia

2005-04-28T04:48:00.000-07:00

So what is trebenchia? It is a verbal skill developed by Tibetan Monks in the sixth century that was used to outwit invaders from China. No weapons were used, just simple, clever parables that confused the attackers and often convinced them to leave without harm coming to anyone. Today, trebenchia is known as bullshit.

Speaking of which, Monks don’t talk so they wouldn’t have created a verbal skill. Trebenchia isn’t a real word either. I just looked out my window and saw a tree and a bench, combined them and added an intelligent sounding ‘ia.’ I thought for second it might sound better as a joint dysfunction, but then I figured I’d swing for the fences with the monk thing.

The point is, bullshit is a lost art and no one can really teach you how to do it. Why? Because if someone is good enough to teach it, you’ll never know it because they just sold you something. All you end up with is a receipt, unaware that you just spoke to a master.

And don’t be fooled by amateurs. If you can say that someone is a good bullshitter, then they’re an amateur because they’ve been identified. And don’t go getting a big head about your own ‘skills’ because telling your wife that you were just drunk and didn‘t mean what you said is just lying. Lying may have an effect, but the only reason you win an argument by lying is because people are tired of arguing with an idiot.

Oh sure, amateur tricks and lying can be fun. Like the time I got a born again Christian to cry by repeatedly saying that the Burning Bush was a metaphorical reference to a sexually transmitted disease. I even invented some references to scripture to support my claim (see John 2:24). But in the end, it’s unfulfilling. There is a skill to it, but it’s not the real thing.

The real art of bullshit has the edges smoothed down for that fresh brewed taste. It’s not being a cookie maker, it’s being a pastry chef. And there is real science behind it.

On June 8, 2003, TIME Magazine published the following from a Duke University study conducted by Dr. Dietrich Massey.

“The effect of words on participants in social and business situations are meaningless when compared to the intangible and discreet maltropy of human emotion. That indicates a direct correlation of the psychemetry of mindset to actual physical and verbal response.”

Of course, those of you with anything more than Psych 101 already assumed the above to be true.

And the best part is, I made it up. There’s no article, no Dr. Massey, no such words as maltropy and psychemetry. And therein lies the lesson. Say you’re doing a paper for a class. Well, real experts don’t talk to people like us, and research is a huge waste of time. Remember - the best quotes are the ones you make up.

A good example of that is with Dodge Trucks. They have a “Hemy,” right? What the hell is a hemy? They’ve bullshitted us into thinking it’s part of the engine and that it gives extra power and speed. Actually it’s an axel weight bearing distribution system that has nothing to do with power or speed. And the truth is, I have no fucking idea what I’m talking about and I still don’t know what a hemy is.

See, it’s fun. Learn about Trebenchia (wink, wink) and you’ll be the life of the party. Or maybe you’ll finally put that know-it-all asshole at work in their place. You can talk about Cytopolar Bio-regeneration like you wrote the book on it. And who knows, maybe you will write the book on it.

And if you get stuck, just look around the room, pick two items and combine them. Poster and picture become postiture. And of course, Dr. Massey showed that Postiture cell residue is toxic to Cytopolar Bio-regeneration and that’s what destroyed the food supply of the Trebenchian Monks and forced them to move to Tibet. Please tell me you already knew that.

Funny Things To Do

2005-04-27T16:39:00.000-07:00

First, before you browse my list of funny things to do, I'm new to this. In fact, this is my first post. It wouldn't even be my first post if my wife hadn't designed this page for me.

I'd like to think this blog is going to be funny, but as my wife will tell you, I'm usually wrong. Especially when I pick the movies at Blockbuster. And even more especially when I decide to throw away our couch and replace it with a futon while she's out of town. And double especially when I think it's funny to light my farts.

Which reminds me. About a year ago my wife was sound asleep in bed and I was watching TV. I felt some gas coming on so I propped up my legs to get a little umph behind it, then I ripped a killer fart. My wife instantly woke up in a panic and looked at the window, "What the hell was that?!" Oh man, I was beaming.

Anyway, the reason I hope this is funny is because funny things are funny to me. I remember once when I was a kid that I laughed so hard that my face turned red and I passed out. Or wait, maybe that was the time I was choking on a chicken bone and it was actually my dad that thought it was funny. Either way, it was funny.

So here is my list of funny things to do:

1) If there are people in a hallway at work, start walking toward them while you rifle through some paperwork. But just before you get to them, turn and walk into the wall, then throw up your arms and say, “Where the hell's my door?”

2) Wait on your porch for the paperboy. When he throws your paper, call him a jerk and throw it back.

3) When you buy something in a convenience store and the clerk says, “Have a nice day,” roll your eyes and say, “Don’t tell me what to do, you’re not the boss of me.”

4) Go to the ghetto and spray paint winking smiley faces over all the gang graffiti.

5) If there’s a door that has a “Push Here” sign on it, push somewhere else instead. If it still opens go “Ha!” and just walk in being smug.

6) Hang out by the meat cooler at a supermarket until you hear someone say, “That’s a nice piece of meat.” Then say “Thank you” as you adjust your zipper and just walk away.

7) If you’re at the end of a line and someone comes up and asks, “Is this the end of the line?” Say, “No, it’s the front and we’re all standing backwards.”

8) If you’re ever hanging out being bored with a friend and they say, “What do you want to do?” Jump up and say, “I know, let’s put on a show! We can use your dad’s barn, Judy can make the costumes, and golly, I know music!”

9) If you’re walking behind someone at the mall, make loud squeaky sounds that match their footsteps.

10) If you fart in public and someone looks at you like they‘re disgusted, just look back and start singing, “Who Let The Dogs Out?”

11) If there’s a long line at the post office and you’re in a hurry, just yell, “Corey Feldman’s in the parking lot!” When everyone runs to get his autograph, you can just stroll up to the counter.

12) If you have a hitchhiker in your car, turn off your radio, lock the doors and say, “Do you mind if I take some back roads?” If they get really scared, it’s pretty funny. But if they just crack a real subtle smile and unzip their backpack, don‘t really take any back roads because they intend to kill you.

13) If your kid loses a tooth and puts it under their pillow, put a pair of pliers under there with it. When they ask why, say, “Don’t you remember? The last time the tooth fairy was here they accidentally left an extra quarter.”

And there you have it, my first blog post. Check back once in a while since I'm going to try and post on a pretty regular basis.