Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Guy One (G1): I usually tape muh fists up for work.

Guy Two (G2): You're a boxer?

G1: Naw, freelance bread kneader.

G2: You need bread?

G1: KNEAD with a K...Knead.

G2: You kneed Brad?

G1: BREAD, not BRAD, and KNEAD, not KNEED! My patellas have neveh struck junk.

G2: You're a Chinese sailor?


Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Your Boast Needs an Assist

"What exactly do you mean when you say you can 'Out Cookie' Famous Amos?!?"


Monday, November 28, 2005

PARENTING 101: Scene from the parking lot of an area Holiday gas station

From the evening of 11/27/2005, Saint Paul, MN

Child (around 8 or so): ...strawberry shortcake.

Mother: You ain't gettin' no damn strawberry shortcake. What you need to do is get to damn sleep tonight.

Child: ...

Me: (walks quickly to vehicle with thoughts of the the child's dashed Hostess acquisition aspirations rolling through my head)


Saturday, November 26, 2005

An excerpt from the notes on my current TIP Labs experiment

It was discovered that if one finds oneself playing Neil Diamond's HOT AUGUST NIGHT (on vinyl) in the latter hours of the morning that one will soon find one's significant other clutching a sizable turkey drumstick in his/her right hand, masticating diligently whilst reading the morning papers.

Cause and effect?


It has been theorized/bandied about the lab since this occurence that HOT AUGUST NIGHT could very well, in fact, be encoded with POULTRY SORCERY (uncertain at this point if this was Neil's intention all along or some other member of the recording industry with a stake in market) which encourages the unsuspecting listerner to seek out/consume the most readily available bird meat source.

More to come as soon as a Turkey Industry wizard can be summoned.


Friday, November 25, 2005

A Sequel that needs to be Made

On Golden Pond II: Zombie Norman's Blueberry Rampage


Thursday, November 24, 2005

My sister is Bat Boy

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And somehow this never dawned on me in my youth.


Tuesday, November 22, 2005

New Idea for the kids that Love those Song Ringtones

Pick a song, any song. Let's say...uhm...WE BUILT THIS CITY (ON ROCK AND ROLL) by the de-Jeffersoned STARSHIP.

Got it?

Yeah, I know...sucky-ass song.

But I think we can make it better and Oh So suitable for your cellphone's ringtone.

Check it out.

We convince the surviving members (I'm just assuming some of 'em may have passed from this mortal coil; they may not have but I'm too damn lazy to look this up...sue me...but, then again, after my idea reaches fruition, this point will be moot) to gather at the recording studio of their choice to re-record this particular song.

And then, one by one, we off 'em, and sell this new version as a ringtone.

It'd sound something like this:

Say you don’t know me or recognize my





Er...uh...Say you don’t care who goes to that kind of place

Knee deep in the hoopla sinking in your fight





Too many runaways eating up the night







OhGodOhGod...Marconi plays the mamba, listen to the radio, don’t you remember

We built this city, we built this city on rock and ro...

(four starved and sharpened-tusked boars enter the now abattoirish studio and goar and consume remaining fellows AND some of the smoldering remains of the others)


I'm telling you, it'd make a killing (har) and put these folk back on the charts. I think the sacrifice is well worth it.

Think about it.


Monday, November 21, 2005

Mistaken Identity

Guy at bar (GAB): Hey, man...I didn't even recognize you.

Me (I've never seen this man in my life): Oh?

GAB: Yeah, the last time I saw you here I thought you were a doctor or something.

Me (haven't been at this particular bar in ten years): Ah.

GAB: So what's your name again?

Me (extending hand for polite shake): Steve. I'm Doctor Steve.

GAB: Kevin. Pleased to meet you again, Steve. Can I ask you a medical question?

Me (fuck): Sure, go ahead.

GAB: I got a rash or something on my chest; can I show it to you?

Me: I'm off the clock

(he lifts shirt anyway)

GAB (pointing at his chest): See?

Me (fuck): Well, it's not my area of expertise but I think that's a case of superfluous nipplage.

GAB (shocked): What?!?

Me (ha): Meaning that's a flock of extra nipples, Kevin.

GAB: Oh my God.

Me: You may want to contact a dermatologist.

GAB: Do you know any?

Me: Contact me at the Aspen Clinic...ask for Doctor Steve...I'll check my rolodex and get you in touch with this guy I know.

GAB: Thanks!!!

Me: Sure. Well, I got to run.


Friday, November 18, 2005

The Great Prevaricator: Tall Tales for Feeble-minded

I've been known to spin a good fake yarn from time-to-time; a classic moment as an example:

Convincing a number of peers at my 10 Year High School Reunion that I was running a junkyard with my son (a la SANFORD AND SON). Only one fellow called me out on this (recognizing the scenario was ripped from a television program AND that my son, if I had one at that time, would have been, at best, a stripling of 10 years of age). For his astute reasoning he was granted the truth of the matter (no junkyard, no son) and a lingering hug (the latter of which might ALSO be a decide).

Two days ago, at a conference I'd been attending (a three day marathon of BORING coupled with inane chit-chattery banter), I sprung another one on the unsuspecting attendees within earshot and it bore fruit (doing such to amuse myself and break up the utter dullness of the affair). It went something like this:

"Yeah, I played power-forward* for my high school's Varsity Basketball team. I was nicknamed 'WHITE FUDGE.'**

The following day I was greeted with calls of 'Hey there, White Fudge!' and 'Good to see you again. White Fudge.'

And it was good.


*I'm 5'8 and was back then as well...there was no way I was going to play that position even in a pick-up game at an area housing project court and the other players were on crutches or missing limbs...and I should mention my lack of coordination...hence the nickname TIP. Thus, this Tall Tale of mine should have fallen flat...but it did not.

**Think the long ago television drama, THE WHITE SHADOW (starring Ken Howard) which, among other things, popularized the nickname SALAMI for a generation (thanks to the kid on the White Shadow's high school squad stuck with that particular moniker...whatever became of him?).

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Mishearing Moment of the Week (thus far):


I Heard: POL POT

Man, you wouldn't want to make that mistake in the kitchen, would ya?


Monday, November 14, 2005

One Faux-Response to the Question "Why doesn't Jean Michel Jarre have more Live Albums available?" or HOW URBAN LEGENDS Begin:

"Okay, so I caught wind about a rather tasty Jarre rumor floating around (first learned when I 'accidentally' overheard two strangers awkwardly groping one another in a lavatory it turns out some folk find 'Jarre-Speak' to be the frosting on the foreplay cake, if you catch my drift); word has it that one reason that Jean Michel is having such trouble getting his live material released to a wide audience is the fact that he pulled out of Supergroup project that would have found him in cahoots with the likes of Zoogs Rift, Zodiac Mindwarp, and Carol Channing. It was planned that they'd tour under the moniker 'The Four Housewives of the A-Puckered-Lips' but sadly, after Jarre noted the projected set list (including a 30 minute laser space harp rendition of BIG BAD LEROY BROWN) he knew it was not a project he could immerse himself in and withdrew himself from consideration. This left a bad taste in some Record Executives' mouths (one noted that it had an aftertaste akin to 'torched Mentos soaked in Sweet and Sour sauce') and, thus, the 'embargo' on Jarre live recordings.

Glad to help clear that up.

Long my the Jarre Flag fly."


Friday, November 11, 2005

Pic of the Week: Ali give Dub the Crazy Twirl

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Wednesday, November 09, 2005


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My least favorite feeling in the world is when I reach down to lift the toilet seat to take a squirt and find that said seat is still warm to the touch from the previous squatter's assheat. (shudder) Sorry, Frank. T

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

TLPHOLG: 'Lection Day

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And I ain'ts talkin' 'bout that so-called 'hit' single from that Duranie side project, Arcadia, neither. I'm speechifyin' 'bout the actual 'Lection Day what's happenin' throughout the country today, space chum. Sure, I'm off splorin' the cosmos in me Intergalactic steed these days and ain't partakin' in this 'ticular 'Lection Day...but I've got some memories of 'Lection Days past that surfaced from the depths of my brackish memory that I thought I'd share wit' y'all; so hitch 'em up and point those earholes in my 'rection for a spell. See, back in the day there weren't no damn ballots or pollin' places...none of this fancy shit. On 'Lection Day you'd vote for your candidate by drapin' an ol' boot 'round the neck of the town drunk. The boot itself had to be stained in certain way to 'note the feller you were votin' for; like in '46 when I put my support behind Alphonse 'Red Giant' Noodler I had to be damn sure the boot I strung 'round Drinkie's neck was stained with the sack blood of 15 castrati, see? If I had erred in my stain with, say, dirt infused wit' 'baccy spit then, dagnabbit, my vote woulda ended up in Harrison Poot's camp...and there weren't no effin' way I was gonna let that happen; Butterface (as Poot was known due to an incident with a churner and his left eye-socket) was a prig o' the highest order and the only 'lected seat he deserved to be voted inta was Commissioner of the Literal Cowpokers (if you catch my drift). In other words, you ain't got no effin' idea how easy ya gots it get out there and vote, dammit.

Monday, November 07, 2005

One way to clue a co-worker in that you've got 'issues' with them

Get into his/her bagged lunch and pre-moisten his chili-bound saltines.

One Man's unwelcome suggestion on how I might Heighten my Bowl of Breakfast Cereal experience

"Y'know, if I were you--and I ain't naturally---I'd totally float some hotdog slices in that there King Vitamin."


Friday, November 04, 2005

A Phrase, taken out of the context of the news story on NPR about Avian Flu from which it arose, that some band or another might use as an album title or might describe some activity down on Old McDonald's farm best left unmentioned:

"...intense daily contact with poultry."


This is not your father's Animal Husbandry...or is it?


Thursday, November 03, 2005

Two Unfortunate Names I came across Today at work:



Tuesday, November 01, 2005

An Actual Snippet of Conversation I overheard just a moment or so ago

"My father has a lot of health issues and he had a dream recently where he was sleeping in the garage..."



Are whatever his health issues are (mental?) the cause of these garage-sleeping-dreams? Or is his subconscious-self summoning random memories of Chico and the Man and HE is assuming the role originated by Freddie Prinze Senior?

Stupid Distractions nixing my eavesdropping and filling in the unknowns.