Tagged: comedy

Making Constructive Use of Political Yard Signs

Now that election season is over we can finally yank all those stupid political yard signs.  Sigh of relief.  But, being the earth-humping, new age hippie that I am, I’m concerned by the tremendous amount of potential waste being generated here.  The optimist inside me assumes that someone has a plan to collect and recycle them, rather than toss them on top of a landfill pile.  I won’t hold my breath…

Just in case the decision makers aren’t as forward thinking as I’m assuming they are, I’ve constructed a short list of recycling plans that should be considered by your community.

Here’s a few ways we could Make Constructive use of Political Yard Signs:

“Coming in second place has never felt so good!”

Build a Retirement Community for Ex-Presidential Hopefuls

Ex-presidential hopefuls deserve to retire comfortably too.  I think it would be a nice gesture to have them put up in an apartment community constructed entirely out of yard signs.  Sounds green to me?  Let’s see how much you love your planet — seeing that you’ve all had enthusiastic eco-plans built into your campaigns.  Oh, and no frivolous misuse of tax dollars allowed.  We’ll provide whatever amenities you’d like, ex-hopefuls, so long as it can be constructed out of yard signs.  A swimming pool you say?  Maybe we can figure something out using the plastic ones.  Enjoy your golden years Al Gore, but keep your hands off the in-home nurses.

Build a Bitchin’ Croquet Course

My vote goes to a Croquet course.  A very, very big one.  I’m thinking we might need to zone a piece of land the size of Connecticut to really make this happen.  Create more jobs?  Done and done!  We can even have the course run through the retirement community.  I’m sure Mitt is a real knocker at it already.

Here’s a picture of the proposed Olympic training course. Its just a rough design for now…

Olympic Hurdler Training Facility

Bring home the gold young U.S. Olympians, but stop wasting money on all of that high-tech training equipment.   Am I the only one that saw Rocky?  The Italian Stallion kept it modest.  Punch a rack of beef, screw the heavy bag.  Political yard signs would make great hurdles for our Olympic track and field hopefuls.  Chop, chop, chop, Romney!  Chop, chop, chop, Obama!  Chop, chop, chop, Gary Johnson!  Sounds kind of fun, doesn’t it?   Equestrian facilities should also be considered for sign shipments.

Feed them to Goats

Are goats a naturally occurring animal?  I’m starting to wonder if they were produced by a lab technician somewhere in the remote Nevada desert.  Goats will eat anything short of rocket fuel.  Why pass on millions of pounds of potential livestock feed?  I say shred all of the signs and ship them off to goat farms.  We eat steroid-injected beef supposedly, why not bullshit-injected goat?

Nudist Colony Fencing

I think a large shipment of signs should be distributed to nudist colonies for privacy reinforcement measures.  Not for the sake of the colonists of course, but for the sake of everyone else passing by.  It seems like all of the people that I don’t want to see walking around in the buff are the folks that love showing off their sag and jigglies the most.  Please, embrace clothing!  Hearing the term “birthday suit” brings a hot burp to the top of my neck.

Hmm. Looks kind calm out this afternoon…

Wind Energy Overhaul

Here’s another idea that I’m surprised no one else has considered yet.  Experts are always spatting back and forth about how to create more green energy jobs, but the enormous cost and infrastructure required always seems to settle the debate prematurely.  Why don’t we just pass out a couple million yard signs to jobless folks and have them fan the turbines?  With that much man power, those propellers would be spinning like a ceiling fan.  Low cost, high efficiency.  I think we might be on to something…

*****

Let’s all raise our glasses together and toast to the end of the campaign trail.  Cheers!  And remember, there’s no problem that can’t be solved without a little bit of ingenuity…

I’m looking forward to hearing your ideas!

-Happy Blogging!

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Don’t be a Halloweiner

I know it’s premature to be talking about things I’m thankful for, but dammit, I’m glad the pagans hijacked Halloween back in the day.  Those earth-humping heathens really knew how to party.  Can you imagine what a shitty get-together it would’ve been if they hadn’t invented Halloween?  No free candy, no blood and guts, no panty-clad zombies…

Scratch me off the guest list.

Ok, maybe I’m confusing the facts, but one thing I know for sure is that every kid in the U.S. will be itchin’ to hit the streets this Halloween in their killer costumes in hot pursuit of free candy.  Halloween is the biggest, baddest holiday bash on the calendar for those little squirrels.  Don’t ruin it for them by being a douche bag.

Here’s a few tips to avoid a toilet paper job from the neighborhood kids:

 Turn your light on    

Unless you live in an apartment or your car, there’s no reason for your porch light to be off on Halloween.  Go out right now and spend twenty dollars on some candy for the little gremlins, cheap skate.  People did it for you, now keep the enchantment alive.  If I find out your lights were off on Halloween I’m gonna wash your windows with peanut butter…

Don’t pass out dumb stuff

Do not pass out anything other than candy.  This isn’t an advertising opportunity for your local church or business.  Getting a pamphlet in the pillow case is about as lame as it gets.  The only thing dumber than a flier is a handful of pennies.  Do the kids a favor — put those pennies in your gas tank and drive your lazy ass to the nearest grocery store.  Rule of thumb:  If it doesn’t give you a sugar-buzz, don’t put it in the bag.

No pictures, please

Let me refresh your memory in case you forgot.  The goal on Halloween night is to hit as many porches as possible within a two hour span.  Don’t waste valuable minutes looking for yourPolaroid camera.  I doubt you have a wall of fame dedicated to trick-or-treaters anyways.  You have ten seconds to put the candy in the bag.  Go.

Don’t embrace the Trick

Look, I get it.  Halloween is all about celebrating blood and gore, but don’t bother with all the antics.  Most of the kids that show up aren’t strong enough to carry their own candy, yet alone fend off a violent chainsaw attack.  Don’t be that guy that embraces the Trick part of Trick or Treat.  Don’t you get it?  It’s a rhetorical question.  They aren’t asking for one or the other, it’s just a way to get you to open the door.  If you don’t heed my advice, you might be pawning off that chainsaw to pay for your post-holiday nasal reconstructive surgery.

Bonus Section:  The “Don’t-Buy” Candy List

Be mindful of what kind of candy you pass out.  Kids have a very keen palette.  They’re experts in the field, and they know what they like and don’t like.  Don’t pass out the following:

  • Whoppers – I don’t even know what these things are.  But, if I had to guess I’d say they were mothballs covered with chocolate.
  • Raisinettes – Here’s another one I don’t get.  Why do candy companies think they can put chocolate on anything and make it taste good?  A raisin, last I checked, is a shriveled grape.  Why not chocolate-covered shoe laces?  These things look and taste like rabbit pellets.
  • Mound/Almond Joy Bars – You should feel like a nut when you buy this crap.  I don’t know why they were even invented.  Apparently some desperate candy-chemist thought coconuts tasted better with chocolate on them.  Newsflash:  nothing makes a coconut palatable.  That man should have been fired and deported.
  • Marshmallow Candies – Another candy invention gone wrong.  I don’t think these things even decompose.  There are probably millions of them – still in the wrapper – buried in landfills across the U.S.  I think they should change the name from Peeps to Poops.
  • Popcorn Balls – Popcorn is cool at the movie theater, but not that cool when it’s shaped into a ball, held together with Elmer’s Glue.  Wtf were they thinking?  One positive thing about them is that they make awesome projectiles.  I wouldn’t recommend passing them out if your house has windows.

I hope I was able to provide some closure for last year’s unfortunate toilet-papering incident.  Pass out jumbo-sized candy bars — the bigger the better.  Think like a kid. Don’t be a Halloweiner this year, or it might happen again.

P.S.  I hope a zombie eats your face off, Pat Robertson. 

     -Happy Halloween Bitchers!

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The Steven Seagal School of Chiropractic

It dawned on me that sustaining an audience through weekly incessant ranting might not be a good long-term concept but I don’t give a fuck.  My therapist says it’s good for me.

Speaking of expensive health services, I visited my chiropractor today for the first time in a couple months.  All of this blogging has become a real pain in the neck (pun intended).  Sitting for extended periods of time does a real number on the body, so I decided to pop in for a much needed re-alignment.

If you’re not familiar with what Chiropractic is, let me break it down for you…

The Chiropractic Experience

In a nutshell, Chiropractic is basically the science of twisting bones and joints in ways that they weren’t intended to move.  Each visit brings a sampling of medical wrestling techniques designed to measure your tolerance for pain and how easily you cry.

“Stop looking at my junk, doc…”

When visiting one for the first time the same protocol happens like with any other doctor.  You typically spend a half-hour filling out a phone book-sized stack of forms highlighting your aches and pains.  After that you’ll burn another half-hour waiting in a room full of decrepit people and listening to cries of agony coming from the occupied rooms.

Right before you’re about to fall asleep the doctor will call you in for spinal x-rays.  After the pictures are developed they are hung on a light board which makes it easier for them to point out the problem spots, as well as the faint outline of your penis.  From there a diagnosis is made and the real fun starts.

There are several procedures throughout the visit.  The first set of bone manipulations begin with the patient laying face down on a table that’s supported by impact springs.  The springs are meant to absorb the large amounts of force being driven into your spine from a defenseless position.  Climbing aboard and riding the table of death to the horizontal position is the only fun part.  After the elevator ride the patient then grasps the “oh shit” bars below while the doctor performs a series of pile driver-like moves causing your spine to briefly meet the inside of your sternum.

Internal Dialogue:

Spine:  “Hey there Sternum.”

Sternum:  “Well hello there, Spine!”

Spine:  “Gotta run.  I’ll drop by next week.”

“It’s alright everyone, I’m a Chiropractor.”

High Velocity Maneuvers

Some practices use adjustment techniques called High Velocity (movements), which look and feel similar to what Steven Seagal does to bad guys in his movies.  While the patient is seated in a chair the doctor silently approaches from behind and violently twists the head of his victim — far enough for the person to momentarily look at their own back.  If it sounds painful, that’s because it is.

I nicknamed my doctor “the hammer”, because he does to his patients what Gallagher does to watermelons.  On top of being medically-aggressive he’s also 300lbs.  The guy is built like a small house and likes to use me as a guinea pig for all his new karate moves he learns at conventions.  One of his newest techniques involves grabbing a hold of the skull and forcefully extracting the patient’s head from his body cavity like a reverse-battering ram.  It’s kind of like tying one end of a rope to a door knob and the other end to a pick-up truck.  Just for grins I decided to measure myself before a visit.  Not shockingly I grew two inches post-adjustment.

And I’m not supposed to crack my fucking knuckles?

It’s important to note that if you’re considering visiting one be mindful of what you eat beforehand.  For example, a double stuffed bean burrito would be a poor choice.  When someone is jumping from the top turnbuckle onto your intestinal region, it’s unlikely your sphincter will maintain composure which could lead to additional service charges.  Each visit brings the potential for becoming a human whoopee cushion.  Many have fallen victim.  I was a victim once.

Right now you’re probably saying to yourself, “Why the hell do you bother?”  The answer is simple: because I’m a masochist.

Most people don’t realize that all of the organ systems are connected to the spine.  Even a minor subluxation can cause a body system to function improperly.  Well, that’s the sadist in the white jacket told me anyways…

What are your thoughts on Chiropractic — believer or skeptic?   

**Please share your funny stories **

-Happy Blogging, ya wimpy Bitchers!

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The Fruitless Pursuit of an Anonymous Hacker

At a time when I’d found myself wallowing in the deepest, darkest depths of writer’s despair, the universe once again delivered.  Unfortunately, my newfound inspiration came with a price tag of a hundred dollars and a few days of lost blog-humping productivity.  One all-too-anxious click of the mouse and I’d contracted a nasty case of cyber-gonorrhea, as well as an attitude toward the stinky prick that was responsible for it all.

It was hard not to feel remorseful about the timing of the matter.  I was just starting to feel centered for once.  The colorful aura that had surrounded my optimistic project faded, forcing me to shelf it for the time being.  Back to the bitch diaries.  I had a more pressing issue at hand.

I spent the next couple of nights by candle light, snapping off tacky one-liners with a quill pen and a head full of trance.  Nothing that I wrote satiated.  I needed more.  I was desperate for reprisal, so I decided to try and track down the bastard.  If I was going to find any closure from the whole ordeal I’d have to do a little police work first.

I figured my best shot at finding the guy would begin with establishing a motive and a detailed profile.  In between slugs of coffee, I paced the room like a nervous cartoon, jotting down notes on a spiral-pad.  I was feeling confident, on to something I thought.  The pencil in my head began to swirl a composite sketch of the perpetrator at large.

The Investigation…

I knew that he didn’t work for a reputable company like Microsoft or Apple, because it would contradict his whole philosophy.  It’s difficult to get hired into a company like either of the two when you’re on a bi-monthly bathing schedule.  I could picture him; isolated in some basement hideout, screaming into a headset while touring the World of Warcraft – the smell of some off brand air freshener fighting off the stale pizza rolls and TV dinner trays piled up on his desk.  In between yelling fits and large blocks of anime porn, there he sits, writing malicious code on a highly sophisticated machine.

Reason led me to believe that he probably didn’t leave the house often, so I’d have to track him down outside of his headquarters.  Where would he go?  What would he look like?  My brain was in desperate need of answers.

He had long hair – an anything-but-trendy ponytail, perhaps.  A person of poor hygiene would mean long hair.  I’m sure a hairdresser wouldn’t leave their scissors near a person smelling like a dirty sponge, yet alone volunteer their services.  Facial hair was also a strong possibility.  He’s clearly a non-conformist, which meant rule out anything fashionable or trendy.  Cheap sunglasses, military boots, an old recycled leather jacket even.

A strong supporter of the Unix operating system.  Everything else was inferior computing, fit only for the common caveman like myself.  Maybe I could track him down online.  Start in the forums and look for the arrogant flake.

All I needed now was a motive.  What would drive a human to bully the civilized world with such malicious intentions?  The answer was obvious.  The poor bastard was probably exiled from the rest of his peers at a crucial time during development.  It caught up with him later on – revisiting, lamenting his awkward high school years.  Now he was evil.  Non-conformists are born that way though, no fault of another.

The Fruitless Pursuit…

There was no use wasting anymore time.  Generally speaking, I had a good idea what I was looking for.  In retrospect, it was a bit optimistic of me.  More importantly, I didn’t know what I was going to do with him when I found him.  What sort of punishment would fit the crime?  More questions.  Then it hit me: motherboarding — a method used for dealing with cyber terrorism, which involved tying the perpetrator to his throne, and beating him senselessly with a stack of motherboards.  Half the problem with the prick is that he’s too smart for his own good, so I may as well bring his IQ down a few clicks.

I knew where I’d find him.  The downtown district is full of non-conformist beatniks – lumbering around in large packs like prairie bison.  What if this was all for nothing?  What if I was pursuing the wrong person?  Maybe he was much more refined — off shore bank accounts, suave dresser, expensive car, Rolex — the whole bit.

The once roaring fire of optimism within me was now turning into a smoldering pile of doubt as I watched the markers tick by.  I could feel my foot easing off the accelerator as my reservations intensified.  I decided to pull off for a bit and make sense of everything.

I ordered a coffee – no cream, no sugar.  It was hard to keep myself from pulling napkins out of the dispenser and shredding them on the table.  The smoke was heavy – a thick blanket of it hanging above the greasy diner tables.  My mind was still in overdrive, but my thoughts were halted by an angry woman that stood up and threatened to off the male sitting in front of her. I could sense the tension mounting in the atmosphere after the blow up.  Maybe it was the caffeine.  Either way I decided to leave a tip and exit before I was the recipient of a misguided projectile.

Going back was intolerable.  I’d been beaten this time, but not destroyed.  What sense would it make to continue this pursuit?  Tracking down one anonymous hacker and removing him would be like containing an influenza epidemic with a single can of Lysol.  Let him have his kicks for now, I thought.  The poor bastard has his coming…

-Happy Blogging Private Eye Bitchers…

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5 Creative Ways to Avoid Small Talk

I take the act of avoiding small talk as seriously as the pentagon does counter-terrorism.  It’s not like I ever have anywhere important to be, but it still grinds my ass when someone tries to impede the process of me getting from point A to point B.  Point A is where I am now, point B is where I’d like to be in the near future, and standing between the two hypothetical points is motor-mouth Marty.

Pass the Dramamine. Hold the Drama.

Pass the Dramamine. Hold the Drama.

Listening to someone with irritable-mouth syndrome is like winding up a pair of those chattering teeth toys.  Five minutes of watching someone’s head bob back and fourth, their hands mimicking every word spewing from their mouths, and I’m reaching for the Dramamine.

Over the years, I’ve learned a lot of useless information, and I find it troublesome to know how many twits are wandering around, aimlessly in search of someone to sort out their lives for them – free of charge.  This just in:  I’m not your  psychologist.  However, based on the information that I just learned about you (against my free will), I’d highly recommend consulting one.

It’s a predator versus prey world and preparedness is the key to surviving it.

Here’s a handy how-to guide to help identify and fight back against these persistent blabber-mouths:    

The Bragger

This kind of talker insures you’ll walk away from the conversation feeling like an absolute failure at life. A few steps in the other direction and you’ll already be reassessing your weak retirement plan, lousy career path — maybe even contemplating marriage counseling.  He’s god’s gift to humanity, and failure is a foreign concept to him.

His impressive life resume backs it up.

Just another day in the life of a Bragger.

Just another day in the life of a Bragger.

How to combat a Bragger:

Never attempt to one-up a bragger.  Any attempt to do so will be countered with more bragging.  Your best bet is to just lie down and play dead – figuratively of course (literal translation my lead to bigger problems).  Appear dejected.  After all, that’s what he wants:  to make you feel like a turd on the bottom of his shoe.

The key to beating a Bragger is to let him beat you.  The quicker he destroys your dignity, the better your odds of getting home in time for Wheel of Fortune.

Storyteller Steve

Whenever I hear the phrase, let me tell you a quick story, I can immediately deduce from it two things:   1.)  This is going to be anything but quick, and/or 2.)  I won’t be interested in whatever bullshit you are itching to ramble about.  Storyteller Steve is always well-traveled and lives to tell tall-tales.  None of them are true.

Give him a pull-start and he’ll blab forever about the time he caught a narwhal out on a Baltic Sea expedition, or about his pickle farming venture back in Utah.

How to combat Storyteller Steve:

Timing is everything with this type, and the remedy must be administered before the onset of the story.  When the person uses the phrase “let me tell you a story”, place your hand on your pocket quickly, then reach for your phone.  Place your pointer finger in the air as if to say, “one second please”.  Then, hold a mock conversation with the imaginary person on the other end, using words and phrases that imply an urgent matter of some kind.  Example words/phrases to use are:  “Now?” or “You’ll be there in ten minutes?” or “He died?”

Pretend to end the call and politely excuse yourself from the conversation.

Story Teller Steve's Alaskan Pike Fishing Trip.

Story Teller Steve’s Alaskan Pike Fishing Trip.

 

Too Much Information Guy

These types will share every intimate detail of their lives with complete strangers.  Medical procedures, incontinence issues, a rocky divorce – anything goes.  Listening to this type makes me feel like a nurse or a psychologist.  I always feel like I should be seated in a leather chair while jotting notes on a yellow legal pad.  Be grateful that I’m not your therapist.  If I were, I would probably suggest a few unorthodox ways of treating your issues.

Tissue?

How to combat Too Much Information Guy:

This type is extremely fragile, so you don’t want to do anything to further upset him/her.  Your best bet is to act concerned about the problem, then suggest they seek a professional opinion immediately.  Reiterate the urgency part.  If possible, dial the phone number of whatever service they are in need of and hand them the phone.

Political Pete

Being that it’s another election year (oh goody), Political Pete is out trudging the campaign trail in massive numbers.  He enjoys collecting bumper stickers and yard signs, spreading political e-mails, and trying to convert citizens of the opposite party.  Most of these idiots don’t have a clue what they’re talking about, but that doesn’t stop them from trying to sound like a fox news correspondent.  Flinging mud and spreading false information is what Political Pete does best.

Whenever approached, avoid eye contact.

How to combat Political Pete:

Whatever you do, do not express your political views.  Doing so will further extend the conversation and add fuel to the debate.  In the past I’ve recommended people void themselves from the conversation by stating that they are not a U.S. citizen, which would implicate that said person does not have voting rights.  However, this information is outdated, and may lead to an altercation if he/she is a supporter of the national rifle association, and/or a resident of the state of Texas.

The most current and effective method for dealing with Political Pete is simple:  ask him to provide you with a bumper sticker, then run hightail it in the opposite direction while he’s digging through the trunk.

The power of Christ compels you!

The power of Christ compels you!

 

Religious Rick

Having to listen to someone’s uppity, know-it-all banter about the after-life makes me want to send that person there myself.  If you’re that giddy about whatever comes next then why the hell are you wasting your time here?  God, if you’re listening to me right now, please let the floor open up under Religious Rick the next time he’s standing in front of me.

He desperately wants to meet you.

How to Combat Religious Rick:

This one is a bit more dramatic, but it’s a lot of fun when executed properly.  Make sure you know the person’s name before you begin.  While the person is conducting their sermon, drop to the ground and begin thrashing around like you’re possessed.  Add flair by cussing and spitting, and if possible, try to foam at the mouth.  Finally, cap it off by yelling gibberish, and be sure to use the person’s name during your performance.

Before you can wipe the spittle from your chin, Religious Rick will be running for the holy water.

I know from experience.

*****

– On guard, Chowderheads \m/

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