Resolutions

The time between Christmas and New Year’s Day is one of reflection for most people. Many aspects of the holiday season can cause you to analyze your own life and how it could be better. It may be the grotesque amount of money spent on Chinese tinker toys for the little parasites in your family that spurs you to consider thriftiness in the coming year. Possibly the terribly boring travel stories Aunt Gertrude has to tell have you and your wife itching to take a vacation that is worth talking about. Or it could have been the magical moment when you gave birth to that six-pound poo baby Christmas night that convinced you to stop eating so much. Whatever the stimulus, most people are making resolutions for the coming year. I thought I would share mine with you.

Reducing my Carbon Footprint

Of all the buzzwords used over the past couple years I believe going green is one of the most pervasive. Most buzzwords make me want to instantly castrate the person who uses it so I can, at the very least, isolate the stupidity and remove it from our gene pool. Anyone who actually uses ‘viral video’ or ‘that video went viral’ deserves such a fate. Did the video start infecting people like Ebola monkeys flinging poo at a zoo? No. A lot of fucking people watched the video, so you should probably just say that.

But as buzzwords go, going green makes me only slightly angry. Going green makes sense. Green is better than pretty much everything. Greenbacks are better than silver coins.  Green eggs and ham are much tastier than eggs and ham while not tripping on LSD. Green grass bests Kentucky Blue Grass because we all know Kentuckians are just a little too lax on the issue of cousin-lovin’. While some folks may not be opposed to this (like the Mighty Kohndor), most people north of the Mason-Dixon Line won’t tolerate it.

Going green irks me when people falsely believe they are doing something beneficial for themselves and the environment. The yuppy hippy fuck in Whole Foods who chooses the cheese made sustainably in Vermont and drives it home in his SUV makes me angry. Not because he drives an SUV, but because he’ll tell all his friends about how wonderful of a person he is for buying this cheese and ignore the fact that he lives alone with his wife in a subdivision yet somehow needs a car that’s used in Mexico to transport troops.

My goal this year is to set higher standards for those people out there who want to go green. I want to be the example that everyone turns to. I want to meet Anderson Cooper and have a three-minute bit on CNN Heroes. Is that too much to ask?

Anderson Cooper once killed 300 terrorist babies with his bare hands, making him the first CNN Hero.

My plan to reduce my carbon footprint is simple. First, as we all know our food chain is one of the largest culprits in the degradation of nature. Most of the fruits we eat are far more travelled than Marco Polo himself. And when I think about the thousands of thousands of animals herded in massive meat ranches, I can’t help but wonder where all that excrement goes. No matter the answer, that probably is not a healthy place.

Having said this, my plan is simply to eat local. There are plenty of food sources that are close to my home. I live in Illinois, the land of deer, corn, and soybeans. One would think I shouldn’t have to go far to get a good local meal.

Well it is not as easy as I thought. Remember, resolutions are never easy and if you pick an easy one then you are truly a douche. You’re the guy at the office who brags to the three hundred pound man about how you fulfilled your resolution to lose five pounds. Once again, for emphasis of course, these people are douches. But I digress.

The reason eating local as I described is not easy is because I truly do not live in Illinois. I live in Chicago. And we all know that Illinois is filled with inbred yokels that are to be avoided at all costs. Chicago is where you find people who have an aura of regalia surrounding them, people you would want to meet because they don’t want to know the pig they just ate was named Gerald. That’s class.

At some point, in a lapse of judgment Chicagoans gave up the food supply to those tractor-riding southerners. Since we all know that these southerners are to be avoided at all costs, my plan to eat local must adapt like the crafty chameleon. That is why in the New Year I will begin urban hunting. There is a plethora of squirrel, raccoon, possum, sparrow, and domesticated feline for everyone.

The more I think about squirrel stew, the more I want to grow a goatee and buy camo. 

One must remember possums are crass, conceited creatures that deserve to be eaten.

While the meat is gamey, there are numerous savory recipes that explode with flavor and will make your family wonder how they ever got by without yard meat. For the health nut, a strictly yard meat diet will make bowel movements come to a screeching halt allowing your body to suck all the nutritional goodness from the blue jay, crow or rabbit of your choice. My carbon footprint will be reduced enough to offset most of my neighbors and I assume the book deals, interviews, and awards will start rolling in.

What I truly hope for is the opportunity to share my ample knowledge of environmental awareness with other experts in a public forum to raise awareness.

Imagine how we could change the world if my environmental expertise was mixed with Ludacris and Tommy Lee's.

To all my readers, I wish the best of luck out there in the societal jungle this New Year. Remember my wise words: Don’t become a statistic. Especially a rare one like drowning in a toilet, your name will surely be attached to that. 

All Hail our Glorious Chinese Masters

It should come as no surprise to anyone these days that China is taking over the world. They have over a billion people, cheap labor, an insurmountable mass of territory, and the political will to achieve these lofty goals. While there are some of us still clinging to the notion that somehow the Bald Eagle will be able to peck out more than two billion eyeballs, I for one do not think this is a fight worth the effort. I am embracing our new Chinese overlords. I feel that they will be fair and just masters who will supply numerous perks for us underlings. Here are just a few of the changes I see coming when the Chinese take over the world and one issue that may just put a kink in their world domination attempts.

Pandas often confuse skyscapers with bamboo sticks. I don't think there is much to be scared of, look how cute they are!

Food

For one, who doesn’t like Chinese food? Gone will be the days where Americans pick up McDonald’s on the way home from work. Gone will be the days where an American can go to the farthest stretches of civilization and somehow find a McDonald’s serving piping hot burgers made from the aboriginal peoples in the area. Who can really argue that this is a bad thing? Instead we will all bow down to the mighty panda and his delicious yet price friendly Chinese cuisine. I dare you to resist the delectability of orange chicken and lo mein noodles!

In time, we will all have to take a Panda Pledge. However our pledge will have to do more with not committing any actions detrimental to the glorious People's Republic of China.



Culture

During America’s time as controller of the world, we have seen American cultural phenomena spread in a virus-like fashion around the globe. Let’s take a moment to remember some of these cultural highlights:

Michael Jackson describing some of the foreplay he enjoyed with his monkey Bubbles.

Screw Lucy Liu bots, I want a Britney Spears bot. Before becoming a fat mother, of course.

Oh Mr. Cooper, when didn't we want to hang out?

 When the tides turn in China’s favor we will inevitably have the winner of Chinese Idol jammed down our esophaguses. While I hope for the best, this probably means we’re going to see a lot more of this guy:

Urge to kill....RISING

我們不妨習以為常口語和閱讀中文

If you can’t read that then you’re really quite screwed. In preparation of our new masters I have taken to learning their mother tongue. I recommend you do the same. You see, in doing so I am beginning the process of endearing myself to the Chinese people. This will help me to move up in their society. We must remember that the days where we can laugh at the comical old man at the Chinese restaurant who offers us ‘Flied Lice’ are numbered. This situation just won’t arise anymore because we will all be speaking in Chinese. And to make matters worse, they will laugh at us when we mess up their language. This will be especially hard for Southerners considering they can’t even speak English well enough to get by, let alone speak Chinese.     

I don't know or want to know what her secret is, but I can assume she won't be able to learn Chinese.

Clothing

Now here is the problem for me. While I have unrelenting love for our new Chinese suzerains, I have one small issue with how they are ruling. Now, I know the Chinese are out there reading this. Their spies may even be peeping at me right now determining whether or not to send a poison tipped blow dart at my neck. If you are watching me please, refrain from doing so. As I said before, my allegiance to the Chinese is uninhibited in its devotion. I only offer constructive criticism.

To the Chinese I have this to say. Americans are generally a portly bunch, me included. The reason I must parlay this information is because my girlfriend, affectionately known as Squirtle, bought me a Chicago Blackhawks jersey for Christmas.

I understand why you may be confused that I have received Christmas gifts already. You see we are pagan so we celebrate Christmas whenever we feel like it. I was ecstatic when I received the gift and had no idea it was a Chinese knockoff until she told me. The next day we went to the Blackhawks game and as I started to pull the jersey over my head I noticed this extra-large was the smallest I had ever seen. Some might say it was an extra large for Chinese people, not fat Americans.

Despite the jersey clearly stating extra-large, it fit Squirtle like a glove. So even though I may have to wait a while for another jersey, at least she will get some use out of it. Moreover, girls in hockey jerseys are sexy, so I can’t complain.

So China, listen up. We may give up our food, language, and dominance in the world. However we will never relent in our love of football, baseball, basketball, and hockey. I don’t know what sports the Chinese play, but we probably won’t like them. And if China is going to start making all of our jerseys, sell them for cheaper, and cut out the middle men, I will support you. But you better get it right. I don’t want a ‘Chinese extra-large’, I want an American extra-large. I want a Patrick Sharp jersey, not a Patrick Shap jersey.



I'm going to go ahead and assume he ordered a Gonchar jersey

And remember this China because if not, you will have a whole bunch of fat Americans coming after you.

Holiday Gift Follies

The Holidays are approaching and we all know what this time of year signifies. It has nothing to do with Jesus, God, Hanukkah, or confusion over Kwanzaa. The Holidays mean rampant commercialism and an unbridled desire for inanimate objects whose immediate satisfaction seems to dim so quickly. Now that I’ve made some of you sad, I will stop being a Grinch and get to the point. While excitement invariably ensues when you do receive a truly wonderful and thoughtful gift, there are also those moments when you receive a gift and subsequently mentally curse that person and their family.

When you gift someone something nice and they give you CD with three tracks on it that still has the $2.99 price tag (this has actually happened to me before), you kind of wish their car goes careening off an icy cliff on the way home. So to prevent my readers from receiving voodoo threats from myself or other family members, I’ve compiled a list of six gifts never to give to loved ones and only to those people you really hate.

Electronic Baseball Score Tracker

Compare

The first gift we have is an electronic baseball score tracker that uses Wifi. Now let’s just ignore the fact that baseball scores are available on your Smartphone, laptop, desktop computer, iPod, and ESPN. What is most disturbing about the product is that the technology looks like something right out of the 1980’s. I’ve actually seen McDonald’s electronic toys with the same crappy display system. So for the baseball fan that doesn’t have cable, a computer, or any other piece of technology post 1970 in their house, please by all means spend one hundred plus dollars on this outdated travesty.

And contrast. 

Bicygnals 

I am a casual cyclist. I enjoy cycling around my neighborhood and through the forest paths in the nearby suburbs. However, I am not delusional. Cycling is not a glamour sport that brings you much respect. In fact, Americans really hate cyclists. Countless are the times that I’ve heard terrible things yelled in my direction as I use my share of the pavement. I’ve even been run off the road by meat-head truck drivers who find malevolent joy in slowly swerving in my direction until I have to jump the curb onto the sidewalk for dear life. So I do know the challenges cyclists face on the road every day. However this next product does not help the situation. 

The creators of ‘bicygnals’ have found a way to make cyclists look dumber, look geekier, and become more of a target on the road. Bicygnals are the perfect gift for the cyclist you want attention drawn to, and ultimately to end up under the chassis of a Dodge Ram.

USB Cooler

The USB beverage cooler is the peak of conspicuous consumption. This device serves no true purpose for anyone. Every office has a refrigerator. Every home has a refrigerator. Why would anyone need a miniature refrigerator next to their computer? The only guess I could venture would be World of Warcraft players because they epitomize the third of the seven deadly sins: sloth. And if anyone reading does play World of Warcraft, please castrate yourself promptly. Under no circumstances can our country afford another generation of useless keyboard jockeys.  

Harry Potter TV Wand

Harry Potter is all the rage again as the release of the final movie airs around the globe. Like a heroin addict who has one last dance with Mr. Brownstone before entering rehab, companies are trying to cash in on Harry Potter for what will most likely be the last time. This wonderful product caught my interest.

My advice is to get the Harry Potter television remote wand for the son of one of your Right-Wing Christian friends. Not just any Right-Wing Christian but the man you really dislike because he claims gays are Satan in the flesh and that Sarah Palin is a qualified person to run the country. His son will prance around the living room lightly flicking his wrist to change channels and all the meanwhile his father will stew in anger as he is forced to consider sending his son to one of those straight camps.

Peekaru

One of my favorite terrible gifts is the peekaru. This sweater is designed to fit over a baby holding apparatus with a cute hole for your little parasite’s face. Oh how wonderful! It keeps mommy and baby warm! Plus mommy doesn’t have to hold her fat baby!  

While this product may appear cute to soon-to-be mommies, to me it is something born out of someone’s nightmare. It immediately reminded me of this scene:

I hope that the producers of Alien will file an intellectual properties claim against the creators of this outrage in the near future.   

Just a Drop

The final gift I’ve found is one we can all relate to. We have all walked in the bathroom and been met with a terrible smell. Not just the normal smell of an adult bowel movement. No, that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the smell of congealing, rotting proteins that have been fermenting for hours in the warm gut of an overweight middle-aged person and subsequently been plunged into the world like an evil spirit escaping from Hades. I think we all have a better picture now. The smell that stops you in your tracts. The smell that makes you wonder whether God even cares about you.

Just eat a drop less tuna and maybe you won't stink the bathroom up like the wharf. 

This product is made for the person in your family or at your office whose bowel movements make you question the abilities of the human body. Just drop one of the tablets into the toilet before use and the smell is neutralized. It’s the polite way to tell someone that they should really consider a change in diet. 

Holiday Hell

December is in full swing and unless you live in a cave you’ve probably been to the mall. Whether you were forced by your girlfriend or wife or came to the yearly realization that at some point this holiday season you will have to go, for people with Y chromosomes it is a terrible experience. 

The Entrance

The entrance to a mall is like a staging area in a quarantined hospital. You must wash when you go in and wash when you leave, for safety purposes of course. Walking into the department stores at the mall you are blasted with the olfactory overload of thousands of perfumes at the same time. The sum of which smells like thousands of old ladies are circling you in their Rascals.

If this wasn’t enough they have spray tanned people standing around sticking smelly white pieces of paper in your face.

Leather-faced lady/well groomed, fit male: Want to smell Ralph Lauren Amber Rain today?

Me: NO. Stop sticking foreign smells in my face before I stick something in yours. And believe me it will be a smelly piece of white paper that you will never forget. 

  

For as much as I hate this entire experience it serves a purpose. Quarantine in a hospital prevents diseases from getting in or out of the little area. In the mall, the chemical wash that is the perfume department prevents you from experiencing some of the less desirable aspects mall, thus allowing you to spend more money.

For one there are children everywhere. We all know children smell. That is a fact, no need to say more. Secondly, old people. In general, they have less control over their bowels than Lindsay Lohan can resist temptation at a lesbian cocaine party. This is not a good smell, Lindsay Lohan or the old people. So by jamming your nostrils full of smell, you don’t experience these elements of the mall. Lastly, the aromatic fumes we find at the entrances also get us a bit high. Ever spend too much time in a department store? Those elves come to life after a while.  

  

Old People

At this point you made it out of the department store that you didn’t even need anything from.

Deep breath to try and clear the lungs and nostrils and it’s time to move on. One store. All I need to do is get to that one store, buy the crap, bee-line for the exit.

Mentally you’re prepared to get in and get out like a heist.

Smooth and seamless like in Ocean’s 11. You’re George Clooney. Ready? Go.  

Now as soon as you start to walk you hit a wall of old ladies. Roadblock.

God, they’re slow. Okay made my way around them, time to move.

More old ladies. Roadblock.

GOD damnit! Okay, scoot by that group of old ladies, let’s go people. Man I wish it was acceptable to push old people.

Bam! Old ladies? Exactly. This is because for some reason old people find the mall to be an acceptable place to exercise. They just walk around the mall holding up every last man who wants to shop with precision. 

Old people should exercise in places where no one can see them. Because honestly, I'm not sure whether or not that man is shitting his pants.

At this point you have to resign to the fact that these ladies are ruining your chance at a heist-like shopping experience.

Jailbait

The place smells. The old people are holding you up. But finally you make it to the store you wanted to find. You buy your girl that new set of pots and pans you’ve been thinking about to remind her that ordering Chinese doesn’t constitute cooking and you’re ready to go.  But alas, on your way from the register to the door you notice a girl walking in front of you.

Damn! That girl is cute. She’s got a NICE ass!

You think about going up to her and saying hello. You did just buy pots and pans for your girl so you’re thinking it could head south after Christmas. As you debate in your head you notice her walking towards a group of high school girls.

No,don’t go there. Nooo!

Yes. After all those terrible thoughts about old people God is making sure you realize you are a dreadful person.  As she joins her friends she turns around to reveal her braces in all their glory. For most of us, the guilt, shame, and anger fill your body. 

Why is she dressed like that? Seriously, where is her father?

Why can’t I be 16 again? I don’t remember my friends looking like whores in high school. Well, except Easy Erin, Loose Lucy and Spread-Eagle Sam. BUT IT WAS DIFFERENT.

My daughter is going to be a fucking nun. A FUCKING NUN!

Time to go

You’re rattled. Your head is spinning from inhaling fumes. The hoard of old people is starting to worry you because Mrs. Field’s doesn’t have a senior discount and the grumblings of riot are written on the wall. At the same time you’re trying to convince yourself you’re not a pedophile. The solution is to run. Run as fast as you can until you breathe the fresh air of the parking lot. And do not come back to the mall. At least until next year. 

Will you be mine, TSA agent?

I am sitting in the office today with nothing to do at the moment. Fact is I have quite a bit to do but the government’s computer network is down. I’ve come to notice that it is down almost all the time. Somehow we could send a man to the moon on a computer system you would find in a modern day blender but we can’t exchange basic information anymore. I can’t complain too much because I have been meaning to write something for this train wreck I call a blog. So thank you to the Illinois Department of Health and Human Services for being almost as incompetent as I am. 

Thanksgiving has come and gone and as always our ritualistic slaughter of turkey has left us with bulging belt lines, indigestion, and shame. When you visit three houses on Thanksgiving like I did that’s more than one dinner, dessert, and drink. And that’s a whole lotta shame. However, it could have been much worse. I could have been traveling through an airport this holiday season. Travelers had a wonderful choice between a grope session that didn’t even culminate with a happy ending or a virtual strip search. 

That's a nice belt buckle.

I myself am glad that the government has finally found a good use for perverts and pedophiles. How is it okay to strip search a thirteen year old girl in this fashion? Or a thirteen year old boy for that matter? For some reason in an airport we're all guilty until proven innocent.

 

This job must attract a certain type of individual. For example, someone similar to this guy:

Don't fuck with Jesus

The only solace I get from this terrible debacle is that for every hot girl or hot guy a TSA agent gets to see virtually stripped down, they have to endure the strip search of a 500 pound man with a fungus that emits an odor so disgraceful your throat convulses. You might enjoy those twenty seconds looking at the hot girl, but you will never forget the smell wafting out the rolls of that disgusting man. 

My personal view on this issue is that you must get to know your TSA agent a little. Before you can go through a body scanner and let them see you naked you have to make them work for it. A firm grope of your testicles or breasts goes a long way to build trust. Since your checking to see if I can hide explosives around my taint I want you to be sure and really give my schlong a good pull. And even though you would think someone walking through the airport with a cantaloupe sized bulge in his pants would be targeted first, you can check out my little bulge. I know you’re just curious. 

Be prepared for maximum fondling

Moreover we, as citizens, have the opportunity to make this whole process much nicer for the TSA agents. Like I said before, their nightmares will surely include the cankles, elephant odors, chili-breath, involuntary flatulence, and heavy breathing of the growing portion of Americans who have to pay for two plane seats. So what can we do to make this a better experience for the TSA? I made a list of things now okay to bring to the airport. 

·         Bikinis/Speedos: Wearing your swim suit helps the TSA in two ways. First, they still get to check out your goods but don’t have to x-ray you to do so. This also makes the pat-down process much easier because you have so little to hide.

·         Wine: In any foreplay situation, wine is a good way to warm up both parties. Remember to have it poured for your agent when you get to the front of the line to save time. You can then sniff and savor the wine before getting felt up. It's just like at home!

·         Something ribbed for her pleasure.

·         Oh yeah we must not forget the lube because every time we have to go through this bullshit we’re taking it up the ass. And you don’t want to do that without lube.

The Threat Down

The last two days have been particularly gloomy here in the wonderful city of Chicago. Cloudy mornings and afternoons obscure the sun’s warmth at a time when we need it most. Persistent cold is sneaking up on us and there is no denying that the seasons are changing. As the sun progressively sets earlier the motivation for many to be outside diminishes. This is the classic Midwestern hibernation stage of the year in which we fatten up and become very pale. For some reason when we emerge in the spring, we don’t think of moving away. We may all be truly insane. 

A recent conversation at work sparked two separate emotions in me: happiness and utter fear. Okay - first the happiness. My boss came into my office to ask me if I was pursuing other jobs in the near future. Being a temp worker, this is exciting because it looks like there is a good chance I’ll be hired on soon. As the smell of my boss’ french fries wafted through the air came the impending fear that I will experience for the rest of my life. It started ever so innocently. 

My co-worker, who was also enjoying the smell of those fries, was explaining how she just wanted to go home and get into her bed and watch movies. I can’t blame her. It’s gloomy out there. The two women then started talking about Lifetime and Oxygen. 

Now a Public Service Announcement for all of my female readers. Here’s an insight into the male mind. When Lifetime or Oxygen comes up in conversation, the auditory regions of the brain shut down. Have you ever noticed you kind of have to nudge a man after you’ve been talking about a Lifetime original? That’s because he’s making his lineup for his fantasy football team, picturing lesbians in a pillow fight, or imagining how many rams he could lasso in twenty minutes.

Scientists have concluded that on average the male brain is twelve times more powerful than the female counterpart.

 

Now because of this biological adaptation the male does not know much about Lifetime and Oxygen other than to avoid them while channel surfing. We are also collectively aware of what the basic program on Lifetime entails:

• Woman is abused by her husband. She feeds him bacon everyday and waits for the heart attack.
• Woman is abused by her drunken husband. Tears ensue.
• Teenage girl is molested by a clown. She must overcome her fear of men and clowns.
• Men are evil. Men are evil. Men are evil.

These shows are downers and I don’t get why anyone would want to watch them. Now obviously this is a male perspective because the channel is quite popular amongst the ladies. However I learned more about Oxygen today. Men, we may be in trouble. For my male readers let me explain the show ‘Snapped’. Apparently this show documents the lives of women who have ‘snapped’ and killed their husbands and boyfriends. They interview the ladies in prison and talk to their family and friends. It’s a reality show that apparently is a big hit with women. The ladies in my office seem to find it ‘entertaining’ and ‘hard not to get into’. 

This is Lauren Zalaznick COO/CEO of Oxygen. I bet a few men have woke up to see her standing over them with a butcher knife.

Such a big hit it is that on Sundays while the gentlemen are in the basement watching football and ignoring wives and girlfriends, Oxygen has marathons of the show that basically demonstrates how not to get caught killing your man. It’s delicately dancing the line between a how-to educational experience and entertainment. Don’t put Drano in his soup because the cops will definitely find out. Good to know. I’m storing that in the back of my head until the next time he checks out Joan next door. It is dangerous to watch marathons about killing your boyfriend or husband. It gets you thinking. Guys do stupid stuff that annoys the ladies. For example:

• Dutch ovens
•  Leaving the toilet seat up at night so the lady gets her butt wet
• Curiosity about the back door
• The phrase ‘What’s for dinner, toots?’
• Refusing to go to the ballet because you’re so close to training the dog to say ‘Ay Ay Captain!’
• Going bald and refusing to admit it thus making your wife deal with the terrible comb-over.
• Get a prescription for Viagra. That’s a commitment many ladies may prefer to pass on. 

I have a message to the Oxygen network. Let’s tone it down. While this show may be entertaining for women, are marathons really necessary? It may just push a woman over the edge. Do you see men watching pornography marathons? No. I think that would make women just as nervous and disgusted as ‘Snapped’ makes me feel. 

For all you women out there I have a message as well. Think about this a little bit. If you kill your man, who will be your pipe-fitter? Wrestle bears away in the snow? Who will bring back raccoon pelts to warm you during the winter? Who will fish your dumb kid’s dead hamster out of the sum-pump? Exactly! A man will and he’ll do it with a smile and make the world feel good. There are also many other useful things a man can do. For more information, inquire with your local man. 

Artist's rendition of your local area man.

Men, I also have a message for us. Be vigilant for two reasons my brothers. First reason being that it is now evident that the female media is clearly brainwashing women to become man-hating lesbians hell-bent on the destruction of men. A mouthful indeed, but very dangerous. And no, these lesbians are not cool. Secondly, we have to look within. The women are converting men to join their fight against us. There are traitors at every corner. The two signs of a traitor are a man’s lack of testicles and his ability to watch Lifetime and Oxygen. They go hand in hand. If you know of a man that watches or supports Lifetime or Oxygen, please take an appropriate course to neutralize him. It’s our duty. Here is the biggest traitor of them all:

President of Oxygen Jason Klarman. He is the epitome of traitor and should be considered public enemy #1. His lack of testicles and high pitched voice should make him easy to locate.

A Case of the Mondays

I think I have a case of the Mondays. While I absolutely hate that expression, it is fitting today. I’m tired, bored, and there is currently a condescending bitch standing in front of me. She is treating my co-worker like a child. I really don’t like this lady. It’s taking all of my strength not to stand up, fill her mouth with formaldehyde, and send her to the Smithsonian with a caption reading ‘World’s Largest Cunt’. 

As I sit here with nothing to do but listen to these ladies go back and forth I thought of a few places/scenarios that I would rather be in than a Monday workday.

A Closet Full of Testy Monkeys

I’ve always admired Jane Goodall’s work on the social structure of monkey life. While I could not commit to living in the jungle with them for years, I would be willing to study what would happen if you locked thirteen unusually angry monkeys in a closet with me, an eager scientist.

My hypothesis: I would connect with the monkeys on a deeper level. The monkeys would gain respect for me as their intellectual superior and bow to my leadership. With the monkeys on my side, I would establish a pickpockting scheme in Las Vegas. The monkeys get bananas and top shelf whiskey, I get gambling money and strippers.  

My associates are never late with the cash.

Totally better than a Monday workday.

 Tom Cruise’s Basement

Unless you’re a scientologist, you are aware that Tom Cruise is one of the most delusional people to ever walk this Earth. I wouldn’t be surprised if he saw himself as some sort of prophet. He thinks he is right about everything.  

Now mix in the fact that Mr. Cruise is extremely dim-witted. He is a practitioner of Scientology, I remind you. Among many other ridiculous things, this man actually believes that evil alien spirits are the cause of suffering in this world and his special instruments and saunas have the ability to cleanse the soul of the evil aliens. That’s not even smart by religion’s standards. 

If you’ve ever noticed in television interviews he gets really angry when he’s proven wrong. That’s part of his delusion. That’s also partly because most of the people that surround Cruise are scared to disagree with him. Those who have disagreed end up in his basement complex where they are forced to repeatedly listen to audio recordings of Dianetics followed by screenings of Battlefield Earth until their will is broken down. In a last tortuous swoop, prisoners of Tom Cruise’s basement are made to watch Knight and Day. This is the tragic end for the hundreds of people who disagree with Cruise each year. 

Cruise in his confused/angry stage. This precedes an explosion of anger in which you end up chained to the wall in his basement.

Still better than a Monday workday.   

The Elephant House

Elephants are the largest of the land creatures we find here on earth. In the wild they roam miles and miles through territorial and migratory lands. So what gave us the idea that it was alright to put them in a building for a good portion of the year? And when we did, why didn’t zoologists veto this absurd idea? This argument can be made for most wild animals, I know. 

If I were you I'd spray water at pregnant mothers with your trunk. Otherwise their babies will come back in a couple years and throw little hot wax elephants at you.

But have you seen the amount of feces an elephant makes? Yeah, let’s not keep that inside. Generally speaking I refuse to go in Pachyderm houses at the zoo because the smell is overwhelming. I’m not one of those prissy city people by any means. I enjoy nature and all of its odoriferous qualities. But concentrated animal shit is not something I willingly put up with the see a three ton animal stuffed into a ‘habitat’ the size of my apartment junior year of college.

Stay free, animal brother. And maybe deuce in that little car so they know what it's like to be in a small area with a large amount of feces.

But in this case, I’d rather smell fecal matter for eight hours than come to work.  

Church

I was born and raised Roman Catholic. I went to Catholic schools literally my entire life. This entailed Catholic grammar school, high school, and almost seven years and two degrees at the college level. This institution has been trying to indoctrinate me for over twenty years and can’t get me to show up for Sunday mass. It’s not that I don’t believe in God, it’s just that I don’t believe in illogical bedtime stories. 

I wish Jesus had raves at my Church on Sundays. I'd even consider not watching football.

Every time I am in Church I feel like I’m part of a cult. Stand up, sit down, stand up, kneel, talk in unison, stand up, don’t worry eat this, drink the red stuff, talk in unison, shake hands, kneel, sing like you’re part of a zombie chorus, sit down, talk in unison. See you next week. Luckily up until now the wine hasn't been poisoned with arsenic or something of the like.

Taking everything into consideration, I’d rather take that chance and eat a little Jesus wafer instead of going to work Monday morning.

European Travels: The Sun Never Sets on the British Empire

I was sitting on my couch the other day with my Dad watching Arsenal play a match against Shakhtar Donetsk. My dad explained to me that this soccer stuff was basically ‘slow hockey’ and promptly fell asleep, from boredom one can only assume. Good match it ended up being, with Arsenal winning handily.

This made me think about my travels through Europe and some of the interesting cultural differences I’ve come across. More specifically, stereotypes I’ve encountered or shattered. I’ve been to Europe four times now and I’d like to tell you a story. 

When I travel I’m always looking for that true European experience whether it’s in England, France or wherever else. It’s not as easy as you would think. Undoubtedly it’s fun to see the historical and cultural sights but there’s nothing like coming back with some stories about locals you chummed it up with. Fortunately for my most recent trip o’er the pond, my friend Phil and I were able to find one of these experiences. 

England

Isolated on an island, the English are unaware of modern day guns.

Oh England, the English speaking paradise of Europe. This former patriarch of the land I call home is domicile to bad teeth, homely women, bad food, and soccer hooligans. At least that’s what popular belief here in the USA says. Well I am here to set the record straight. The teeth are really bad. 

I really enjoyed England. It’s like America except everyone talks funny and the streets are backwards. So when you’re drunk at four in the morning it’s very easy to get yourself killed stepping out into traffic. Speaking of getting drunk (which I have been known to enjoy), London had the most rules I’ve ever seen about getting drunk. Mind you this is in the area known as Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square. It’s a trendier/touristy area in the heart of London that reminded me a lot of being in New York City around Times Square. 

So the rules

If you want to get drunk and watch a soccer game (like we did one night) you must go to the sports bars. It seems no other bar in the heart of downtown shows the matches. Walk into a pub, no game. Walk into a sports bar, games everywhere. The problem lies in the fact that the lines to get into sports bars go half way around the block. By the time you’ve entered the bar, the game is at half. What’s the point?

Now if you want to get good old fashioned saucy for no reason the pub is a good choice. You would think that as I did, but once again London drinking rules are in effect. The pubs, though a good source of beer, close rather early: midnight or one in the morning depending on the night of the week. In one of these pubs we met the most attractive ladies we did in England. We started talking and it turns out they were from America. No surprise there, like I said before England is full of homely women. Also no surprise that they were ‘heading home’ at bar close and didn’t want to come out for some more drinks. They told us that if we wanted to keep drinking until the wee hours of the morning, the night clubs were the way to go.

If you’ve ever seen a picture of me, you would know that I don’t do night clubs. I have nightmares about nightclubs. Smooth-chested men in leather pants with gelled hair attack me in those dreams. Bass heavy techno sampling songs from dead artists I actually like make my ears bleed in those dreams. Women who want nothing more than free drinks and ecstasy from me make me broke in those dreams. I wasn’t about to make any of those terrible things reality. 

The loophole we found was the 24 hour casinos. A little bit of sanity in an insane part of the city. As long as we kept gambling, we could drink all night long. And for all that drunk gambling I did, I actually made money. So the moral of the story kids is drunk gambling will never lead to bad consequences. In fact we came across another group of attractive ladies while at the casino: they were Irish. 

Hooligans & Their Food

Okay so now that we have established that there are far too many homely women in London, let’s move on to my other preconceived notions: soccer hooligans and bad food. The food wasn’t bad. It was like the dinners your grandma made after she started to lose it. But you can’t complain to your grandmother for serving you tacos and green bean casserole because you know she loves you. It wasn’t bad, it just seemed the combinations were uninspired. The ‘Full English Breakfast’ consisted of eggs, a sausage, a tomato, a mushroom, and toast. They all tasted decent, but when you look at the plate you think ‘This is what you came up with?’  All I can say is that the food was good enough to give me a solid base for drinking. And as you will soon learn, that was important one night. The main reason my friend and I went to England was to see an Arsenal game, not the food. 

We made our way to North London for the match against Wolverhampton. Drank a few pints before the match in pubs packed like sardine tins. We then headed down the street to the Emirates. The neighborhood was really cool and reminded me somewhat of Wrigleyville in Chicago. It was a neighborhood consisting of flats and two-flats as far as the eye could see. Small, locally owned shops, pubs, and restaurants lined the main thoroughfares. It had that olden feeling, even for London. But then, out of nowhere rises the intimidating modern steel of the Emirates. 

Beautiful.

That's Phil, in all his glory

Packed house for the match.

The game was great. No score through 90 minutes despite the Gunners’ constant peppering of the Wolves’ goalie. Stoppage time came and in the 94^th minute Niklas Bendtner streaked into the box and headed a cross pass into the goal for the dramatic win. The Emirates erupted in relief as Arsenal put away a game that should not have been so close.  

   

Just to clarify a bit here: Arsenal FC players are called Gunners and their fans are called Gooners. I don’t understand the Gooners thing, so don’t ask. High on life my friend Phil and I made our way to a pub named Bailey’s Gooners. Obviously this bar was for Gooners exclusively. However if the name wasn’t clear enough, there was a sign placed in the window stating ‘No visiting fans welcome’. The bar was small, completely covered in wood and very dark.  It was daylight when we entered the bar and probably about two in the morning when we left. 

Gunner Niklas Bendtner

We chatted with a few groups of fans and as the time wore on and pints turned into more pints neither of us wanted to leave. Slowly the bar started to become less populated. There was one group of guys who remained. They were serious fans. They lead the bar in soccer chants the entire night. Unparalleled is the sense of unity in sport when an entire pub erupts into song together. You just don’t see this very much in American sports. At the end of a good Bears game this is what you’re bound to hear walking back to your car:

 Fuck yeah those fuckin’ Colts really fuckin’ sucked. And you see Cutler? Fuckin’ amazing tonight. 

HEY FUCK YOU JACKWAD, PACKERS SUCK!

Anyway we talked quite a bit with this group of guys. There were four of them that I remember. The first was really tall, probably about six foot five or so with a five o’clock shadow from yesterday. The second was a kid so bland I can’t really come up with a description for him. I do remember he really liked cocaine because he kept talking about it. In fact, all of them were talking about cocaine quite a bit. The third was a short, humorous, black guy dressed in purple. Last guy seemed to be a prick, honestly. He was very serious and despite the fact that the other three guys liked us, I’m not so sure he did. The night wore on with this crack group of guys discussing sports, America, and England. 

Sometime late, we all moved on to new bars. All I really remember from this part of the night was walking through the streets, singing soccer songs, and watching these guys knock over trash cans, construction signs, and basically anything not chained to the ground. Stop in a bar have a couple drinks, move on to the next. We got a good tour of North London. It was during this march that we found out these guys, although they did cocaine and were drinking at the bars without a problem, were 17, 18, and 19 years old. Maybe it was the beers that shaded our perception or maybe it was the fact that they wanted to keep drinking, but it never crossed either of our minds. Somewhere in the range three in the morning (mind you the spirits began somewhere around 1pm), Phil and I decided to head back to the hotel. We had a seven a.m. train to Amsterdam to catch. Somehow we made it back to the hotel and to the train on-time. In hindsight, a miracle.

That train ride to Amsterdam was probably God’s way of telling us that we were assholes. It was long and boy were we hurting really bad. But it was totally worth it. Nothing beats hanging out with the locals when abroad, even if they were five years younger than us. If you want to party, I'm game. That may just say something about my maturity level. However when all was said and done, it was truly an experience that will be hard to top. 

The McRib: A National Travesty

Oh crap! I just jizzed in my pants. 

It’s that time of year again. For the past couple weeks the McRib has been causing indigestion, diarrhea and fits of vomiting all across the country. While this is no different from the digestive results of the regular McDonald’s menu, there is an exception. That being that people are actually excited to eat at McDonald’s now, instead of being sad like before.

A local McRib lover and I were having a conversation about the sandwich one day as he prepared to enjoy the meaty wonder. He told me that I just had to try it because it was indescribable. He also guaranteed that I would love it and told me to buy two.

Fast food is obviously gross. There is nothing really good about it. But when it comes to a hangover, nothing quite soaks up that queasy feeling like a cheeseburger from McDonald’s. Every now and then, some food from your favorite greasy restaurant hits the spot. There’s nothing wrong with it because it does serve a purpose. Just please don’t eat it every day. And if you do eat it every day, please don’t go out in public.

Watch those fingers, you don't want to lose one. 

McDonald’s is also a great way to help your body perform at peak efficiency. Why do you think Olympic competitors eat there?

So we’ve established that McDonald’s serve some use in the world. However, the McRib in no way can be justified by humanity. I tried one for the first time the other week because after 24 years on this earth, curiosity got to me one hungover morning. Before throwing the McRib away, I took a total of four bites. On the first bite I was taken aback by the fact that the BBQ sauce was just terrible and watery. Second bite is when I realized that despite being advertised as a flesh-based product, this meat tasted like nothing. It was unbelievably bland.

This immediately made me think that if this doesn’t even have enough pork in it to taste like pork, then what in the hell is actually in this? So intrigued by this disgusting pork sandwich, I took a couple more bites to try and pinpoint the foul tastes I was experiencing. Besides the taste of raccoon, bovine growth hormone, and third-world children (which is a normal taste in all McDonald’s items), it was hard to pinpoint what was so inexpressibly disgusting. Honestly it might be the texture. Pork wasn’t meant to be ground up and pressed together into patties. That works with chicken and beef but not with pork.

A plain McRib patty. It's like waking up next to a girl without makeup. Really makes you think.

Apparently the bones are only on the top of the McRib.

So I guess I don’t understand what the whole ruckus has been about with this McRib. As far as McDonald’s items go, in my opinion it is by far the most heinous offering. But I will not judge you McRib lovers. When you go to get your McRib I will get my double cheeseburger. We’ll both be gross together. Well, you’ll be slightly more disgusting. But I’ll let it go. 

A Mystery: Can You Help?

One interesting aspect of the modern world is the high probability that you are going to see something that shocks your world view every now and again. This doesn’t mean that Muhammad appears in the sky and tells us all Jesus was a dick and to stop praying to him. Although an occurrence like this would shake world views and also be pretty awesome. I hope deities cuss like sailors; it will make the after-life more interesting.

What I’m speaking about more specifically is something a person experiences that confuses and/or scares them to an extreme level. Something that, for a moment or two, you are doing nothing else but trying to figure out what in the hell is going on. 

 

Scene 1: Milwaukee, Wisconsin – Sometime During College

One night two friends of mine were out at the bar. It was a cold, clear skied, fall night in Milwaukee. We decided to leave and walked back a few blocks to an apartment to hang out away from the craziness that was the campus bar scene. All three of us were looking for a quieter night.

The apartment was on the second floor of a large U-shaped complex. It was typical dirty college housing. However you don’t really ever realize how dirty college housing is until you leave and see how normal people live. Anyway, we made our way to the balcony to smoke a couple cigarettes. It overlooked a busy intersection and a row of houses that were rented by students. Directly across from us, the house was having a party. Kids stumbled around yelling, drinking, smoking and generally having a drunken good time.

Now that’s when it happened. It started out slowly and got louder. Then louder. At first it sounded like a large train riding on its brakes. My two friends and I looked at each other quizzically. 

Louder. 

It was a slow sound. Again I thought it sounded like a train but no – it couldn’t be. If it was a train it was like no train I had ever heard before. And come to think of it, there were no train tracks anywhere near us. 

Louder. Louder. 

The sound got so loud the party across the street stopped. People looked around. Confused looks appeared on everyone’s faces. 

Louder. Now it is fucking loud. 

And it’s not a train. I know that, but it sounds like one huge, screeching, angry machine. I briefly had imagined something out of War of the Worlds coming down 17^th Street.

Not sure if I'd rather come face to face with this thing or Tom Cruise on a righteousness binge. 

The sound hit its peak as everyone in the area was starting to freak out. That’s when an old man in his car finally makes it through the intersection. This genius decided to ride around on all four rims. Not flat tires, people. He did not have any tires on. Just riding around on metal. Genius. The sound was immense. The car was moving at less than a mile per hour. We all pointed and laughed once we saw the random explanation to our noise. 

It was a good chuckle but also a huge relief. The entire event lasted about ten minutes or so but there is nothing quite like that feeling of complete ignorance of what is going on around you. It can truly be scary.  So props, crazy old man. You single-handedly caused the abrupt and total confusion of so many people in the city that night.

Scene 2: Chicago, Illinois – The Dan Ryan Expressway – Thursday  

Yesterday the work day kicked me in the balls. After it had a good laugh, it punched me in the throat and walked away. So naturally I was happy to leave the office and make my way home.  Since I don’t work in the greatest neighborhood, I had to drive through the minefield of potholes that is Garfield Boulevard to the Dan Ryan Expressway. It’s such a routine that I’m pretty sure I can do this with my eyes closed.

Anyway the Ryan is pretty packed as usual. I put on some good music and relax. I’ve never understood why people get so angry about traffic. Yeah I’d prefer not to be in traffic. But I always see it as an opportunity to listen to an album I haven’t heard in a while. I’ll get home. No big deal.

Either way, as the southern crawl progressed I noticed something that confused the fuck out of me. Coming down the break-down lane was an asshole in a taxi. But it was not your average asshole taxi driver. This yellow cabbie was covered in snow and ice. Completely covered. Mind you its about fifty degrees. As it zoomed by me it started to weave in and out of traffic. This guy was in a bigger hurry than Britney Spears was to achieving old fat mom status. Wasn't it just yesterday she was young, sexy, and untalented? Now she's just old, knocked-up, and untalented. Such a shame. 

I looked around to other cars on the expressway and of course the other people are zombies. Here’s what’s going through most of these people’s minds, something in the ballpark of:

I hope Dog the Bounty Hunter is on when I get home tonight. 

Consequently, no one is noticing this car covered in snow as I point and yell to people about it. Suddenly, I’m the crazy guy.

Hopefully I don't look this crazy.
(source:fantasticallyweirdshit)

As quickly as the taxi appeared in all its majesty, it disappeared into traffic ahead. So this is another one of those instances where I have no clue what to think. For the life of me, I can't come up with any explanation that makes much sense. I feel like there is a bug eating my brain from the inside out. This is killing me. After much thought, I’ve narrowed it down to three possibilities. Mind you, these are the most logical things I can think of. Seriously. 

First, this car could have been in a freezer somewhere. It was driving very erratically, so it’s possible it was a car holding a dead body. Maybe the Mafia had something to do with it? The Yakuza? It was heading towards Indiana and we do all know that’s where you send your junk. Maybe they needed to wait a couple of days before transporting the body so they put it in a freezer to keep the stench down.

Second, this chemically enhanced brain of mine could have been having some sort of flashback. It is completely possible it was a total hallucination. I was very tired, which works in favor of this theory. However, hallucinating a taxi weaving in and out of traffic seems like less of a flashback and more of someone at work putting some microdot in my water. And judging by the fact that I made it home without crashing into all those penguins on the side of the road, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t on LSD.

The third and final theory is that this was a time traveler. All the evidence adds up. First, the car was driving like a maniac. If I had just come through a time portal I feel like I would be a little disorientated. Second, it was covered in ice. Traveling through a portal has to be either really hot or really cold. It’s definitely not a comfy seventy-five degrees.

It’s been a few days and I’m still very confused. Help me solve the mystery. There may be something I’ve overlooked. What do you think? Leave a comment if you want to help.