Archive for March, 2005

I have something to post…

And I get to be lazy about it because Anne brings up a good point.

What do I look like? Be sure to get you submissions in before noon tomorrow when I finally reveal myself.* Whomsoever gets the most right gets a box of Berger Cookies.

Also, La Chat Noir, mokiejovis, joe, Kmart, Fool, JJT, other Bmore bloggers, and ACWF are excluded because they already know what I look like.

Here are the questions:

1)How tall am I?
a)5′-5′4″
b)5′5″-5′8″
c)5′9″-6′
d)6′1″-6′4″
e)6′5″-6′9″

2)Hair- how much I got?
a)Bald. Maybe a few strands
b)Balding, still plenty of hair though
c)Plenty of hair, kept short (buzz, crewcut)
d)Plenty of hair, kept medium (messy, mini-mohawkable)
e)Plenty of hair, kept long (straight, pony tail, full mohawk)

3)Hair- color?
a)You’re bald, stupid.
b)Black
c)Brown
d)Blond
e)Red
f)Dyed/Highlighted

4)Eyes- various?
a)Blue
b)Brown
c)Green
d)Hazel
e)a and b
f)c and an eyepatch

5)Build- gym?
a)slim, no tone
b)medium, no tone
c)large, no tone
d)slim, toned
e)medium, toned
f)large, toned
g)jacked to the point that I make Vin Diesel look like Professor Frink.

6)Hands?
a)lefty
b)righty
c)ambi
d)a and a hook
e)two hooks

7)Face?
a)full beard
b)amish beard
c)mutton chops
d)mustache only
e)fu man chu
f)soul patch
g)goatee
h)f and c

8)Skin color?
a)white
b)pale
c)pasty
d)freckeled
e)tan
f)golden god
g)b, c, and d
h)d, and e

9)Underwear?
a)boxers
b)briefs
c)bikini
d)commando
e)a in cold weather, d in the summer
f)b in cold weather, d in the summer

10)I is how many fingers old?
a)13-18
b)19-21
c)22-24
d)25-27
e)28-30
f)30-I might as well wear adult diapers

11)Essay- variable length?

I’m meeting you at a bar in Baltimore. What do I show up wearing? (Assume clear skies, temperature between 40-50 degrees). There is only one correct answer, but I will assign partial credit for other answers.

*Assuming Blogger cooperates.

Damn it feels good to be a gangster

As I was driving to work this morning, I had a feeling of impending doom.

The cargo van in front of me with the rolls of carpet hanging out the back was driving slower and slower down the street. I should have bailed out and gone around him at that point, but I was holding out hope that he was just slowing so he could turn onto the next sidestreet.

Then it happened. His hazard lights came on, and I knew I was stuck behind this horrible douchebag as he pulled to a complete stop.

I was in the left lane of a 3 lane street. The lane behind me was starting to back up, while traffic in the middle lane flowed quickly. The right lane was abandoned, as it usually is, due to poor street maintenance, and an abundance of potholes.

Every chance I had to get over to the middle lane was thwarted by one of the drivers behind me who would quickly speed into the middle lane.

As I edged closer and closer to the middle lane, in vain attempt after vain attempt to pull out, I noticed that the cars in the middle lane were pulling slightly to the right. I creeped further toward the middle lane, and at this point, my car was hanging into that lane by about a foot or so. The cars in the middle lane continued to flow by quickly, simply weaving into the right lane.

I saw a break in the traffic of the middle, though it was brief, and pulled my car onto the street, staying as close as I could to the right side of the carpet truck. I was straddling the left and middle lanes, and then I was around the van.

That’s when I heard the horn. My car had been fully merged into the left lane when the horn started, and as I looked to my sideview mirror, I saw a BMW logo.

Rich asshole. I extended my arm and fist to within a few inches of my passenger side window, and then I extended my middle finger, and looked directly into the eyes of the asshole who honked at me for no reason. I hadn’t been impeding her lane, and even if I had, she had plenty of room to give me half a lane for half a second. Apparently, her life is too important to spend that much time on a peasant like me, so she thought she would let me know.

Unfortunately, she didn’t realize that I don’t give a fuck what she thinks. It was plain to see the shock on her face when she saw my middle finger. She drove beside me, and then past me, never taking her eyes off the appendage that shouted, “Damn straight, I just called you on your ignorant shit, bitch!”

As she drove beyond me, she continued to look back awestruck, stymied, flabbergasted, flummoxed, and completely taken aback. Had she turned any further in her seat to see the beacon of her assholitude she would have been sitting sideways. Her face was priceless, and I was completely vindicated.

Blogger Bloggity Blows

If I didn’t have so much else to do legitimately (wedding stuff, looking for a new apartment, getting my end of anonymity post together, work) I would be looking for a new place to host my blog.

In the meantime, I got jokes!

What did the 0 say to the 8?

Nice Belt

What’s the square root of 69?

Eight something.*

A guy goes kayaking in the Chesapeake Bay. The fog rolls in, and the next day, he hasn’t returned home. His wife calls the police, and they start searching for him. Later that week, the police knock on the woman’s door.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we have some bad news, but we also have some good news, and some great news.”

“Okay, what’s the bad news?”

“Your husband is dead. We found him at the bottom of the bay.”

“Then what’s the good news?”

“Well, we no it’s no consolation, but when we pulled your husband up, there were about two dozen, jumbo, blue crabs clinging to his gear. We steamed them for you.”

She takes the bushel of freshly steamed crabs and sets it on the ground.

“What’s the great news then?”

“We’re pulling your husband up again tomorrow.”

You got jokes?

*Ate something. Get it? It’s a joke about oral sex.

Randomness

I have NO idea what’s going on here but that is just filthy.

Also, I’m not sure that I like people who smile when no one else is with them. For some reason, I don’t trust people who are constantly smiling.

And I’m trying to find a link to an image of a billboard that the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra just put up. It’s an Apple iPod-esque silhouette ad with a composer that says, “Cheat on your iPod”. It’s pretty sweet. I emailed the BSO’s marketing person, so hopefully they get back to me about that.

And, uh, peener.

Unmasked

There comes a point in every man’s life when…

No, that’s crap. Lemme start again.

Four score and seven years ago…

That doesn’t even fit within the context. Jeez. I’ll give it one more try.

I want my baby back baby back baby back, Chili’s babyback ribs! Barbecue sauce.

Oh, that’s it. I give up. There’s no good way to start the post where I tell you that I’m giving up my secret identity, and am throwing myself, ala a baby with the bathwater, out into the open world of the internet.

I’m going to pull back my Lone Ranger mask (which I actually wear while blogging) and show my face to the entire world wide web thingy.

But… it won’t be today. I need enough time to get some good pictures of me together, and doublecheck to scrub any previous posts that might get me Dooced. After that, I’ll be the equivalent of the guy who runs onto the soccer field during a match and takes all his clothes off and streaks across the field. So, I’ll try to have it up by this Friday. No promises though.

Now, where the hell did I put that soccer streaking picture?

Oh, this will probably earn me being teased unmercifully

I was a Boy Scout.

Before I go any further, let me answer some questions or comments before they are posed.

No, my scoutmaster didn’t molest me.

No, my scoutmaster wasn’t a child molester.

No, no one else in the scout troop was arrested for molesting children.

No, I didn’t molest anybody either.

No, no molesting took place whatsoever.

Are you done with your childish comments? Good.

I started out as a Cub Scout when I was a little kid. I learned some bits about nature, identifying trees, animal tracks, birds, etc. I learned a little about science (physics of gravity, Bernoulli’s principle, basic chemistry), how to shoot a bow and arrow, how to fire a gun, how to use a safely knife, how to start a fire, and I learned a bunch about how to take care of myself with few supplies.

As a Boy Scout I learned much more. I learned how to cook and bake. I learned how to pack to take up as little room as possible. I learned first aid. I learned lifesaving. I learned about local, state, and federal government. I learned about surveying. I learned about sports. I learned about nutrition. I learned public speaking. I learned the basics of speaking another language. I learned how to control a canoe, kayak, and raft. I learned how to efficiently ride a bicycle. I learned about camping, hiking, backpacking, and all types of basic outdoor principles.

And that’s just what I was supposed to be learning. I also learned how to smoke, I learned how to walk on leaves without making much noise. I learned how to turn someone’s tent around while they were still in it. I learned how to quickly adjust my eyes to darkness. I learned how to swear (to the point that a scoutmaster told me to stop because it was making him uncomfortable). I learned that a gallon of water weighs 8 pounds, and that you can use foot powder as a suitable deodorant.

I also started getting over my racism, homophobia, and closed-mindedness about religion.

I’m not saying that the Boy Scouts of America, as a national organization, are good people. I’m actually quite certain that they’re not. But our troop was great. There was a bit more Jesus going around than I would currently accept, but there was no overt hubbub made over the scout who was an atheist, or the scout that everyone thought was gay.

I’m not sure if I would put my kid in the scouts. But I know damn well that 90% of everything I’ve learned in life, I was given a primer in scouts.

P.S. Moss does not always grow on (x) side of the tree, and you can’t start a fire by rubbing two sticks together, technically.

The 2 1/2 bathrooms are nice, but how does it hold up to the Undead?

Yesterday, on our way to Easter dinner (part 2), ACWF and I passed a house that sat back from the road, in the side of a hill, that was surrounded by trees. The house had dozens of humongous floor to ceiling windows all the way around.

ACWF commented about how much she liked it, and I agreed that it was nice, but I questioned how well it might fare against a zombie attack.

“What?”

“Zombies. All those windows would be hard to reinforce. I’m pretty sure the undead would basically walk right through that place. That’s not safe.”

When I go into a bank, I try to figure out how I would be able to rob it. I check the cameras, I check for guards and what type of stuff they have on their belt (nightstick vs. nine millimeter), and I check to door to see if I would get locked in, or what. I never rob the bank, of course. Not only is it morally reprehensible, but it’s also illegal. But, that doesn’t stop me from pretending I’m a bank robber.

When I look at houses, it’s the same thing. I wonder how it would hold up to a zombie attack. I know zombies aren’t real, but it’s fun to play out the scenarios in my head.

For example I always check the perimeter first. Are there any fences? Any streams or ponds that might impede progress? How many doors are there? How many windows?

It’s all important. Max Brooks says in The Zombie Survival Guide that we need pick a place that’s best suited to give us protection, while allowing the ability to live for an extended period of time in case a zombie outbreak lasts for years.

I already know where I’m going to end up if a zombie outbreak occurs, and I know the people I’m taking with me. I know how I’m going to get there, and I know I’ll be able to stay there for at least a year.

If you ask me nicely, I might let you hide out with me too.

Jesus Mendelbaum

I hope those of you who celebrate are having a happy Easter. On that note, ACWF and I were talking about the big JC this morning, and somehow we got on the topic of his name.

Me: “I wonder why Christians went with the Christ part of the name. Why wouldn’t they go with Jesususians or something like that? It would be a little more personal.”

“Duh, because Christ is his last name.”

“What? No it’s not. You think that Jesus, Mary, and Joseph had a little hovel with a mailbox near the street that said ‘The Christs’?”

“No. But wasn’t Christ his name?”

“No! If anything it would be Jesus of Nazareth, or Jesus bar Joseph. Jeez!”

“Well then what the hell does Christ mean if it’s not his last name?”

“I can’t remember exactly, but I think it’s a title of sorts… So you’re saying that he could have been named Larry Christ, because his last name would have still been the same?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well then what if he was named Jesus Mendelbaum? Would we have a religion called Medelbaumians?”

“Whatever jerk. You could have just said that it wasn’t his last name and let it drop at that.”

“I’m so posting this conversation.”

“I hope you have fun making me look dumb, butt-mouth.”

Happy Easter

We need better traditions, so give me the meat

I don’t get this whole “Can’t eat meat on Friday, lest we make the baby Jesus cry.” I didn’t get it when I was Catholic, and I don’t get it now.

I want some pepperonis on my pizza bitches!

And bacon. Where would the world be if we didn’t have bacon? In a much healthier place, no doubt, but would that place be worth living in? No!

So why the hatred on swine, and meat on Friday?

According to KenCollins dot com,

In the first century, Jews fasted on Mondays and Thursdays. The original Christians were all Jewish and were used to the fasting as a spiritual discipline. They moved the fast days to Wednesdays and Fridays, because Judas engineered Jesus’ arrest on a Wednesday and Jesus was crucified on a Friday. Most often that fast took the form of avoiding meat in the diet. In those days, meat was a luxury food. You either had to buy it in a market or you had to own enough land to keep cattle. On the other hand, anyone could grow vegetables or forage for them, and anyone could catch a fish in a lake or a stream. You could buy better fish and vegetables, but the point is that you could eat without money if you were poor. So meat was rich people’s food and fish was poor people’s food. That is why the most common form of fasting was to omit meat and eat fish.

So doesn’t this mean that Catholics need to pick a new “luxury food”? Given the cost of seafood, even in a port town like Baltimore, shouldn’t fish be the new “meat”?

Or maybe, just lobster, scallops, Baked Alaska, and truffles should be outlawed. Are there any luxury foods anymore, really?

Maybe instead of holding to a tradition that doesn’t make any sense given the current economic market, and the ability of most people to easily purchase meat, a new tradition could be developed. Perhaps that tradition could be called, “Let’s actually do something for the needy instead of giving them cans of old sauerkraut and kidney beans.”

Take Mother Teresa for example. This is what she did:

This returns us to the medieval corruption of the church, which sold indulgences to the rich while preaching hellfire and continence to the poor. Mother Theresa was not a friend of the poor. She was a friend of poverty. She said that suffering was a gift from God. She spent her life opposing the only known cure for poverty, which is the empowerment of women and the emancipation of them from a livestock version of compulsory reproduction. And she was a friend to the worst of the rich, taking misappropriated money from the atrocious Duvalier family in Haiti (whose rule she praised in return) and from Charles Keating of the Lincoln Savings and Loan. Where did that money, and all the other donations, go? The primitive hospice in Calcutta was as run down when she died as it always had been—she preferred California clinics when she got sick herself—and her order always refused to publish any audit. But we have her own claim that she opened 500 convents in more than a hundred countries, all bearing the name of her own order. Excuse me, but this is modesty and humility?

The rich world has a poor conscience, and many people liked to alleviate their own unease by sending money to a woman who seemed like an activist for “the poorest of the poor.” People do not like to admit that they have been gulled or conned, so a vested interest in the myth was permitted to arise, and a lazy media never bothered to ask any follow-up questions. Many volunteers who went to Calcutta came back abruptly disillusioned by the stern ideology and poverty-loving practice of the “Missionaries of Charity,” but they had no audience for their story. George Orwell’s admonition in his essay on Gandhi—that saints should always be presumed guilty until proved innocent—was drowned in a Niagara of soft-hearted, soft-headed, and uninquiring propaganda.

One of the curses of India, as of other poor countries, is the quack medicine man, who fleeces the sufferer by promises of miraculous healing. Sunday was a great day for these parasites, who saw their crummy methods endorsed by his holiness and given a more or less free ride in the international press. Forgotten were the elementary rules of logic, that extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence and that what can be asserted without evidence can also be dismissed without evidence. More than that, we witnessed the elevation and consecration of extreme dogmatism, blinkered faith, and the cult of a mediocre human personality. Many more people are poor and sick because of the life of MT: Even more will be poor and sick if her example is followed. She was a fanatic, a fundamentalist, and a fraud, and a church that officially protects those who violate the innocent has given us another clear sign of where it truly stands on moral and ethical questions.*

So I say, stop the silly tradition of fasting, and do a little investigation before you give money to a supposedly “needy” organization. Instead use the money that you would have spent on a luxury and give it to an organization that actually helps people.

Have a happy celebration of a pagan fertility ritual co-opted by the church to coincide with the resurrection of Jesus.**

And make sure the Easter Bunny gives your kids some candy.

*Shock your relatives this Easter with your newfound knowledge of the real Mother Teresa. Who am I kidding? About 90% of you won’t believe it anyway. She’s not a good person people! She let hundreds of the worlds poorest people die in pain!

**Insert the following quotation marks as you see fit in the asterisked sentence-

” ” ” ” ” ” ” “

Not quite eugenics

I have a serious problem with stupid people. I can’t stand idiots. Before you jump down my throat, there is a difference between someone who is born with an intellectual disability and someone who is willfully ignorant.

I can’t stand it when people refuse to use their brains. When they shut their heads off, and never think for themselves, it makes me think that they don’t deserve to have a head at all.

It would much easier if, for example, their heads were replaced with a microphone and speakers, so that you could give those people commands, and they could respond to you about how long they think it would take.

I could say, “Hey dumb dumb, go make me 15 copies.”

Actually, that probably wouldn’t work, because the same people who are willfully ignorant also choose to ignore the benefits of technology, and prefer to hide behind their tshirts with idiotic slogans, much like their forefathers hid behind their cloaks while they called for Galileo’s head.

Also, there’s the problem of determination. Who am I to say who is willfully ignorant? There are die hard Republicans, of course. That’s easy. Die hard Democrats go into that pile too. You’d also have to include just about everybody who refuses to Google it before asking dumb questions.

I guess you would also have to include people who say things like “ain’t” and “pitcher” instead of picture. And also, I think I’ll include people who can’t get its and it’s, your, you’re, there, their, and they’re, and people who end a sentence in a preposition. Though I’m guilty of all these sometimes. I guess I should watch my back.

Also, people who take up 2 spaces when they park will be killed outright. Someone will be stationed by their car with a drivers ed manual, and the driver will be beaten to death with it.

Finally, just about everyone using AOL is going to have to be offed. But, I’ll give them all one chance to switch over to a different internet provider before I shove them into the Grand Canyon.

I’m sure I missed people though…




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