Monday, May 31, 2004

Failed Opening Bits from my next Great American Novel

"Who knew that walking your domesticated tapir around town was illegal? As a law student and a temporary employee of Bastardson and Lupis you'd think I would have stumbled across this fact in the course of my studies, I thought from the holding cell at the police station. From the barely audible snippets of conversations I picked up from the on-duty officers, I gleaned that my confiscated bear-sloth was being also being held for 'questioning' in a quickly-modified a la McGyver closet-turned-zoo-ish enclosure. I was surely going to be late for my Uncle's annual Hootenanny (or 'Hooch-n-Granny' as he liked to lecherously joke...or was it a joke?) scheduled for this evening."

"It shouldn't have surprised me that Lester misunderstood the term 'raconteur' as a military stint in Iraq..."

"I never expected such a venomous outburst from the panhandler in response to my deposting a spare frozen waffle into his upturned hat-turned-alms-collection-plate. Years later, we'd laugh about this, our very first encounter and the beginnings of a beautiful friendship as squat-mates."

"Ya ever threaten me with that spud-gun again you'll find yourself married to a burlap sack full of pain, ya dig?"

"Things were not well at Space Station Bbllrrgg, as evidenced by Commander TyKloon's choice in outfitting himself in a loose and threadbare third-generation-hand-me-down-towel-as-ceremonial-loin-cloth to meet the delegation from Yerdlee Alpha. The crew was not convinced that this was a customary display of goodwill to the visiting diplomats; that, in fact, it fully proved First Officer Gant's suspicion that the Commander was completely unfit for duty and in the deep throes of inebriation from an evening alone in the cargo bay with a cache of Urinotic Spice Swill and a holographic swine sexual release projection."


Saturday, May 29, 2004

Is there a Cryptologist in the House?

If so, could you please assist me in understanding the following graffiti I found etched into the men's room wall at a local tavern:*

"Him not Big Chief by default,
Him Big Chief 'cause him like salt."

Is it a phrase in secret code or is it simply a statement that, in certain tribes, one can rise to a position of power per an affinity for sodium chloride?

Or maybe by 'salt' they mean a sailor?

So very confused.

In the good old days one could expect graffiti to express ol' so-and-so's sexual prowess and/or that by calling a particular number one could have a good time...not this cryptic shit.

Thanks much to the anonymous scribbler for confounding me whilst I relieved myself.

*Psycho Suzi's...for those in the Twin Cities area that would like to check it out for themselves. It's scrawled over the urinal on your right hand side.

Thursday, May 27, 2004

Twofer Thursday
Actual Work-Related Conversation from a few Moments Ago

Me: The prospective student you scheduled an appointment with me for 5:15 didn't show.
Co-worker: That's weird; I just talked to her the other day and it sounded like she was going to make it for sure.
Me: Well, maybe she stopped off at a Dairy Queen on her way in and had an errant Dilly Bar accident.
Co-worker: I don't think that's really likely.
Me: Okay...maybe she poked herself in the eye with a Push-Up tube.
(Co-worker walks away shaking her head)
Me: Stranger things have happened! I ever tell you about my incident with a Mister Misty?

Unexpected Time Lord Reference of the Day

The following is an actual e-mail exchange between myself and my favorite rep at an agency my employer does business through as I was attempting to rectify some file errors:

Me: Yeah...I sent corrections through the website last week.
Her: Well, crap on a stick.
Me: Crap + Stick= Excrementsicle. What's the customer service number and is there anyone in particular that I should ask for?
Her: I would recommend a pro-active approach. 1-800-XXX-XXXX.
Me: Aww. I'm more of a RE-active guy.
Her: Think outside the box.
Me: But I *like* the box.
Her: Even the Doctor left the TARDIS on occasion.

You can imagine that I was delighted by the Doctor Who reference.

(Tom Baker fan from way back)

Wednesday, May 26, 2004

Basic Mathematics and the Common Basketball Fan
A quote overheard during Game Three of the Lakers/Timberwolves game

"C'mon, man! We're only down by four!!!"

Timberwolves fan expressing optimism for his optimism that presumably clouded his ability to correctly identify that his team was actually down by seven points when he shared the above with the bar.

Must of left his official NBA abacus at home last night, eh?


Tuesday, May 25, 2004

Norwegian 101

Definition: A riotous gathering of bacchanalistic behavior usually enabled by vast quantities of Aquavit whilst submerged in a body of water (preferably a sea inlet tucked between steep cliffs...but Norwegians and their acquaintances aren't that particular, so even a moistened gutter or upturned kiddie pool will do). Not to be mistaken for FJORGE, a derogative term for those of Spanish and Norwegian descent or NOR-WHORE, a possible participant in a Fjorgy if you find yourself with an adequate number of Kroners, naturally, and don't mind paying for a round of sinful business.


Monday, May 24, 2004

Fun with Street Signs

Take the abbrieviated version for the following street:


Which would look like this:

S. 10th St.

Squint a bit at it and, if you have my particular peepers, optic nerve hook-ups, and mental capacity it kinda looks like:

Sloth St.

"They're a real lethargic, hanging-by-their-three-toed-feet sumbeeches over there on Sloth St. And don't even get me started on the muthas over on Tapir Ave with their snouty 'tudes."


Thursday, May 20, 2004

TIP: A Man of Sage Advice Replies

Here's an excerpt from an e-mail request I got today from a co-worker:

In an effort to improve the overall quality of our students lives every month students will be able to submit questions pertaining to their personal or professional lives via email and benefit from our panel of experts. One question will be selected each month and our expert's responses will be published in the following month's newsletter.

Wha? Somehow I've become a member of some 'panel of experts' and I distinctly recall no election process NOR every being asked to join their ranks. Hmm. Definitely feel some Ego-Inflation stirring in me dome.

I read on to see what the student's question was that I might/might not respond to:

My future in-laws are buying us a home in time for our wedding this June. His parents have made one condition: that the house would be in my fiancé’s name only. This makes me feel like they don’t trust our relationship.

After a few moments on consideration (assisted by some thoughtful gulps of coffee) I decided I'd take the plunge and sent an Ann-Landers-esque reply. The following is the actual 'Words of Wisdom' that I forwarded to the editor of our newsletter (we shall see if it gets published at all or edited to death):

To thoroughly mangle a clichéd piece of common wisdom in order to make my point: Do not look a Gift House in the mouth (or should that be door instead of mouth in keeping with the house theme? After all, I’ve been in any number of homes in my life and have yet to encounter one with a proverbial mouth; unless it was some sort of Amityville Horror-Style abode and I failed to notice the slavering evil house-maw…but I digress). If the future In-Laws are going to unload some serious ching in order to put a roof over their darling baby boy’s AND his soon-to-be-blushing bride’s respective heads, all the better; no rent or mortgage payments to worry about and a place to keep all your stuff out of the elements. What a deal!!! The fact that they want to leave your name off any of the documents of ownership is a minor quibble; if it does show a lack of trust on their part (in regards to their son’s choice in bridal material) then I would guess that over the course of your long-lasting and loving marriage partnership you will prove them wrong, right? Till death do us part, yes? That’ll show them that your relationship is worthy of their trust. Ergo: Don’t worry about the home only being in his name.

What you should concern yourself with is that they could possibly hold the house over your husband’s head (not the actual house…unless one or both of his parents have superhuman abilities akin to Clark Kent’s alter ego) as a kind of leverage to get their way in your united lives. Think of it as a kind of Sword of Damocles only not so much a metaphoric edged weapon but more of a figurative blunt force/crushing threat hanging in a menacing manner over his head. Mister Hubby is going to have to stand up to them if this does in fact happen. He’s a big boy now (or will be) and doesn’t need to heed to any/all of their demands, regardless of who foot the bill on your domicile. Once the papers are signed and the check is cashed it is his (and yours by proxy) and they will have no real say in how you both chose to conduct your lives…Inside OR Outside your new digs.

Thus, I send out to you early congrats to both your forthcoming vows and the place that you two will come to call home.

PS: Oh…and one more thing…don’t let them have copies of the keys to the front/back door or you might find them camped out in your living room when you return home from an evening out.

PPS: Unless the place they are proposing on buying is a real dump (something like a tricked out lean-to with an attached rain-barrel-as-water-closet); in which case I would pass on the offer all together.

(just call me Solomon...Solomon GRUNDY, that is)

Wednesday, May 19, 2004

Unused Plot Thread from my non-existent Soap Opera script

The hastily devised plot to unseat City Councilman Alphonse 'Un-Fonzie' Rutherfred goes awry when the hired thug--in actuality an excommunicated former Swiss Guard/Ninja of Pope John Paul the First-- errs in his understanding of the word 'unseat' (in this context) and attempts to forcibly amputate the elected official's buttocks with a ceremonial katana while he dined with one of his mister-esses at the Overindulgent Friar Charhouse. The unscheduled 'surgical procedure' is thwarted by the keen eyes of the always chagrined, yet unnaturally lovable professional bouncer Barth 'Blast' Fernis, who's night it happened to be to work the door (even though his soon-to-be-third wife was in her 15th hour of labor with their 2nd illegitimate child whom they planned to name Cheep-pack Dobro, regardless of sex, after mishearing the name of a certain famous Spritualist).


Tuesday, May 18, 2004

Fun with Google(TM)

Sometimes when I'm bored I like to type random words into the Googe Image Search and see what comes up.

Today I was pleasantly surprised by one of the two results of looking under the phrase, "Midget Rodeo."


Monday, May 17, 2004

Not the Answer I was Expecting
an excerpt from a conversation I had with my mother about my sister's current boyfriend (completely factual)

Me: Is (unnamed) a bit 'slow?'*
Ma: No...he only has one lung (points to neck).
Me (taking note of gesture to neck and the possibility that my mother doesn't have basic anatomy down): What?
Ma: He only has one lung; he isn't slow (points a second time to neck and also rubs it for emphasis).
Me (maybe her neck itches?): Are you sure you mean 'lung?'
Ma: He only has one lung.
Me: Do you mean--I don't know-- 'larynx?'
Ma (matter of factly): He has ONE LUNG.
Me: ?!?

*'Slow' as in 'touched in the head' for those unclear of this particular usage.

Friday, May 14, 2004

Item that may prove to be Useless/Entertaining in your Dungeons and Dragons Campaign

Gauntlets of Groping
A roll of a Natural Twenty allows possessor of said gauntlets to man/monster-handle and fondle intended target for three rounds. Whilst being manipulated, the gropee is unable to retaliate against the groper but can emit low cooing/moaning noises in response to the magically enhanced rubbing. After the third round, the victim has to roll for initiative; if he/she/it fails, a second three rounds of vigorous caressing ensues. A Saving Throw against Viscous Shudders must then be successfully made or, upon the end of the sixth consecutive round of Oo La La, the unexpectedly randified will soak their own thighs with gouts of Baba Yaga's Joy Juice (or, if they be a creature sans thighs, their slithery nether-regions). If the over-groped happens to be a Fellow Adventurer (that you have had a bone to pick with), the other Roleplayers present are then allowed to mercilessly tease/chastise their compatriot until he/she leaves in a fit of tears (symbolicly representing the imagined and unintended ejaculation) when their parent/guardian arrives to rescue them from this belittling experience. Normal gaming resumes from this point forward.


Thursday, May 13, 2004

Let's Talk about your Bumpersticker


"Shouldn't that read I'm A Missionary for Jesus ?

"No...I'm not a Missionary...but I AM flat on my back for God Junior."



Tuesday, May 11, 2004

Potential Suggestive Lunchtime Inquiry

An older/odder gentleman passes by the table I am sitting at and asks:

OG: Is that bread burnt or is it actually that color?
Me (after a momentary recovery from being interrupted from reading the paper, I look at the Rachel-on-Rye I had ordered): It's rye bread.
OG: That's right; rye bread.
(pause while he inspects the rest of my tabletop)
OG: Get anything else?
Me (?!?): Fries.
OG: Mmmm. Fries. That's good. That's good. You buy anything else?
Me (clearly he can see the food I've ordered, right?): Nope. That's it.
OG: What about that pickle?
Me: I didn't order it; it came with the sandwich.
OG (now walking away and muttering): Pickles are good.
Me: ?!?

I don't care what the lot of you are thinking; there was no way in friggin' hell I was going to offer him my pickle.* My luck he was waiting for an opening like that in order to ply me with pickle-as-phallic-symbol-innuendo which is exactly NOT the way I want to spend my lunch hour (or any other hour, thank you very much).

Lecherous old bastard.


*Even though I had no plans of eating it since I had JUST retrieved it from the floor from where it had fallen prior to this fellow's arrival...unless he had seen that and WANTED to eat my dirty pickle? That's even MORE problematic, isn't it? 'Sir, would you like to eat my dirty pickle?' SLURP!!!

Monday, May 10, 2004

An Example of When to keep your Opinion of a Piece of Jerky to Yourself

"Damn, Sweet Earl, this tastes like you."


Saturday, May 08, 2004

The Mother-in-Law Quote of the Day

"I used to fantasize about working with Lepers."

I suspect the appeal of this line of employment is the tropical locales of most Leper Colonies.


Friday, May 07, 2004

Four Questions that should serve as a warning that someone's planning a Defenestration

"How much do you weigh?"

"Is that an open window?"

"What floor are we on?"

"Are your shoes untied?"


Thursday, May 06, 2004

Shatner would be proud

"It looked like a carnivorous Tribble was eating its way into his torso and was making good progress."

TIP's statement about the armpit hair of Def Leppard's one-armed drummer, Rick Allan, after seeing a photo of the rocker shirtless.

Wednesday, May 05, 2004

Overheard at work today

"I have two lungs, right?"

Let's find out
(unsheathes ceremonial bread knife)


Tuesday, May 04, 2004


Bars and Taverns should have characters that represent them in commercials similar to those used for Fast Food Franchises or Cereals; like Ronald McDonald, Burger King, Big Boy, the late Burger Chef, Count Chocula, Cap'n Crunch, Quisp, King Vitamin, and so on. I'd certainly frequent a watering hole advertised by the likes of...oh, I dunno...let's say:

Charles Booze-Cow-ski

Imagine, if you will, a cartoon bovine holding a beer stein imploring you, in televised ads, to MOO-ve on down to the Bar-Flea for an Udder-ly entertaining evening of beverages and staggering conversations/clinches with fellow customers. Amble up to the Booze Trough and stay a spell, why dontcha?

(there could even be an Adult Playland equipped with Milking Machines and Hot Irons for Branding)

Monday, May 03, 2004

A Cautionary Tale

Wulliam 'Bully' Pulpit was a lifelong victim of an ill-chosen vowel on his Birth Certificate by otherwise doting but obviously extremely nearsighted parents. With money tight due to a downswing in the waders market that his father had monopolized early on in his career (via strongarm tactics perfected by his own patriarch, Edwin 'Doanfugwitme' Pulpit, during the Rubber Pants Uprising in the first part of the 20th Century), Wulliam's parents were never able to right this wrong and, thus, the 'modified' name remained.

It was during his first year of Elementary Education that a fellow student, Desmond Flaherty (son of Spud Gun creator, Reilly 'Potato Nugget' Flaherty), took note of the odd spelling/pronunciation and,after several weeks of trial and error tweakings of the name, rechristened young Wulliam with the nickname of 'Bully' (the process of which unfolded in the following manner: Bull, Bullshit, Bullshite, Bullhorn, Bullet, Bull Eats, Bull Feets, Buffet, Muffet, Muffler, Mule, Muley, and, finally, Bully; Des was not the sharpest hoe in the family toolshed). Oddly enough, 'Bully' took little offense at the Alias Experiments of his schoolmate as he had, during the first week of Desmond's Renaming Crusade, taken to urinating vigorously in the Flaherty lad's thermos.

Boys will be boys.