Archive for December, 2006

DC tourists, kill yourselves.

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 29, 2006 @ 11:05 am
in art, bitches and travel
. 27 Comments

Mrs. ACW and I, having grown tired of the insides of our home during the winter holiday, and having run out of food and alcohol, decided to venture into DC to see the new Museum of the American Indian.

The museum itself was beautifully designed, and the organic interior and exterior were quite a departure from the sometimes stodgy and imposing museums surrounding it. However, the organic interior made for a very poor exhibit layout. Twice I noticed that exhibit rooms, when following as close to what could be reasonably described as “a path”, dead-ended, leaving museum visitors stuck looking for a way out. Every museum exhibit I’ve ever been in has one way in, and one way out, and they never double back on one another. This museum broke all those rules. And while the architect and museum designer are probably patting themselves on the back, hundreds of people are trapped in a tiny enclave that describes the mat-making processes of the Ojibwa.

I’d rather not to put all the blame on the designers though. If the idiots in the museum actually had any concern for anyone other than themselves, most of the problems with bottle-necking would have been eliminated.

Because of this experience, I have decided to write a quick primer for anyone who is visiting the DC area:

1) When you’re in a museum, be aware that other people may want to get by you. Don’t stand in the middle of stairs, hallways, walkways, exhibit spaces, or doorways. Idiot.
2) Don’t stand four across while holding hands with your family. Not only does it make you look like idiots, but you’re also in everyone else’s way. Move, fuckers.
3) If you MUST have your cellphone on in the museum, please silence the ringer. I don’t give a fuck if you just downloaded the new Lady Sovereign ringtone and you’ve been waiting for your boyfriend to call all day, shitface.
4) When riding an escalator, please stand to the right. People want to get past you. Stand to the right. Stand to the FUCKING right you fat whore-painted troglodyte!
5) When getting off the escalator, don’t fucking STAND there. Keep moving you dumb countrified pile of middle-American shit. I realize your home town just had its first stoplight installed last week, but that doesn’t mean that your Balki Bartokomous-esque behavior will be tolerated.
6) Russian, Italian, and Spanish tourists. Fuck off. Don’t come to America. We hate you. Also, Europe wants you to know that you’re more annoying than American tourists, and they want you to fuck off too. Kill yourselves.

It’s a good thing I don’t have the ability to kill with my mind, because I’m pretty sure I would have leveled the whole fucking town.

Happy Xmas, bitches!

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 25, 2006 @ 9:35 am
in beer, food, nog, sex and zombies
. 12 Comments

I hope you got lots of eggnog and zombie related paraphernalia. I know it’s what you wanted, because you keep coming back here to read about it.

In fact, I can tell from here that you’re a little depressed because there’s no zombies or eggnog in this post. Well, get over it.

Go have some PBRs, eat some Christmas Crab Dip, and use some mistletoe for a belt. You’ll have the best Christmas ever.

Merry Christmas!

Can you smell that?

Published
by
mokiejovis
on December 21, 2006 @ 8:18 pm
in potty humor and suhmuhmuh bitch
. 13 Comments

Right now, and since about 5pm, western and south-western Baltimore has stunk like a broken sewer pipe. Even after traveling from Catonsville (stinks) to Ellicott City (stinks) to Arbutus (really stinks) the stink still lingers. I have no idea what it is and can’t find any info. Does it stink in the city right now? Is Dundalk burning?

P.S. Even northern Catonsville, up by Rt 40, stinks. I just called my mom, and when she declined to step outside and take a whiff, I convinced her that the air smelled like candy, instead of raw sewage. Point: Mokie.

UPDATE: as of this morning, the ass smell is officially gone. Will it forever remain a mystery?

Nogvalanche!

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 21, 2006 @ 9:48 am
in bitches, food and nog
. 21 Comments

Last night I went nogserk. I was completely overcome with a noggling feeling, and no amount of non-nog was going to de-nog the nogging that my internal nogometer was nogalating. … Um, nog.

I lit the nog candle
eggnog candle

and put on the nog shirt.
eggnog shirt

Then I made some nog tea*
eggnog taffy and tea

and drank my tea with nog in it**.
wawa nog

I also dunked some nog cake (that had been made with nog instead of milk) into the tea/nog combo.
eggnog cake

Then I ate a piece of nog taffy*.
eggnog taffy and tea

Why would I inundate myself with so much nog? What could possibly cause me to nogulate my internal nog-processing plant with so much nogginess?

I drank spoiled nog.

In all my years of drinking nog I’ve never consumed a single droplet of spoiled nog, but last night that all changed. I noticed that the expiration date on the Colonial Custard was about a week past the spoilage threshold. I sniffed it and it smelled fine. I had some a few days before, and hadn’t noticed a single noglet of nutweg awry, and I figured it couldn’t go from fine to filthy in a few days, so I poured myself a tiny bit to taste it.

It tasted fine.

I put my glass back down on the counter and tipped the carton to liberally suckle at the noggy teat. The nog flowed freely, filling half the glass before slowing; the ribbon of flowing nog slowing and thinning to a tiny thread of nog until the nog stopped completely. I was confused. My glass wasn’t nearly full, but the nog had stopped pouring, and there was a substantial bit of weight left in the carton so I knew there was nog in there.

I jiggled the carton a bit and gave it a little squeeze and out sploshed what can only be described as the fetal stages of nog developing bone structure. It was the consistency of runny pudding, and the squeeze was just enough to propel it, like a gelatinous missile, towards my glass. Half of the substance landed in the glass while the other half was sliced off by the edge of the glass where it continued into the sink, still a solid mass, though half its original size.

As it impacted with the sink basin whatever semi-solid/mostly viscous properties it had once retained were immediately broken, and the globnog exploded like a water-ballon filled with cream-colored paint, splattering the bottom and sides of the sink, coating everything with a thin layer of noggy slime. What was most distressing was that the nog on the sides of the sink did not run towards the drain. It was as if the nog had no need to comply with the effects of gravity, so it hung there, suspended by unadulterated vileness and spite.

This whole time I had been standing at the counter still holding the carton, witnessing these events unfold, frozen in place lest I actually come in contact with this filthy mutant that I had a few seconds ago consumed. The last remnants of what even slightly resembled nog slid slowly out of the spout and splattered onto the counter a few inches below. I knew then that drastic measures needed to be taken, or I would never have a drop of tasty nog again.

I quickly rinsed the sink and cleaned the counter. I threw away the carton and started boiling the water for the eggnog tea. I gathered my wits, surrounded myself with every last noggy item in my house, and consciously focused on all the good nog, while pushing out the bad nog from my mind, and began the ritual that I described above. It was only by doing this that I was able to retain my love of nog, and not continuously vomit from last night until well past the New Year.

I have a feeling that I’m going to have to do this all again when I eat the nog soap.

*Review forthcoming

**Wawa nog review: Wawa nog is wholly unremarkable from any other nog except that it’s the only food-mart nog that is made by said food-mart. There is no 7-11 nog. There is no Royal Farms nog. They only carry nogs from local farms. Oh, and by the way, if you don’t know about Wawa, you’re missing out. It’s the greatest food-mart in the world. Yeah, that’s right. In the world. Tim Hortons can suck it.

You may also notice that there is some cannog next to the Wawa nog. Apparently my brother bought me the cannog before he read the cannog post. I don’t know. Maybe this time it will taste better.

Scratching Post Post

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 19, 2006 @ 9:51 am
in Mrs. ACW, devil cat, money and sex
. 27 Comments

When you get married you get to do many exciting things. For example, because you’re married you get a break on your taxes, which is a de facto way of the government saying, “We approve of your marriage, and everything you do within your union.” So essentially if you like to be wrapped in tinfoil, duct taped to the ceiling, spanked with 1/8 scale replica cardboard-cutout of Ronald Reagan, all while singing traditional Christmas music, the government is PAYING you for being that big of a freak, and only because you’re a freak who is married.

Mrs. ACW and I don’t ever do anything that exciting (even though she said that if I bought the duct tape she would think about it) but this past weekend she did add me to her bank account. I told her that if she doesn’t treat me right I’ll just clean her out. Maybe I shouldn’t have typed that. They could probably use that for evidence later, couldn’t they? I guess I’ll delete it.

Eh. Maybe later.

Anyway, we’re at the bank, and for some reason it takes 40 minutes to add my name to her account, but it finally gets done. Mrs. ACW and I then went to a number of different stores to shop for Christmas presents for people, and for our cats. Yes, Mrs. ACW is the type of person who loves to buy presents for our pets. I prefer to not be punched in the wang when the conversation would ultimately escalate to violence, so I keep my mouth shut and go along with such a crazy idea. We bought the cats a 3 foot scratching post, but when they got home they found a better toy.

Sherlock

This is Sherlock playing with the business card of the woman at the bank that we met with.

Sherlock

He and Wookie must have chased that thing around for hours. I’d fling it at them and almost every time they’d pounce on it in mid-air before pulling it to the ground and trying to kill it. A few times Sherlock carried the card around in his mouth, but I couldn’t get a picture of him doing it. The best I could do is the first picture above. I kept telling Mrs. ACW that he was a card-carrying business-cat, but she didn’t think it was very funny after the third time he tried to sell her Accidental Death and Dismemberment insurance. What can I say, he drives a hard bargain?

Finally we dragged the scratching post to the middle of the floor and they really started playing with it. As you can see here, Sherlock very quickly claimed it as his own personal thing to lay on.

Sherlock and the new scratching post

It didn’t take him long to get the hang of it though, and for a while he kept climbing to the top of the thing like he was re-enacting the final scene in King Kong. (King Kong falls off the Empire State Building, dies, and the audience realizes that man was the real monster. Why you gots ta be a monsta all up in here?) In the picture below you can see Wookie immitating one of those tiny clip-on koalas from the 80s.

Wookie and the new scratching post

Seeing how much fun Wookie was having with the business card and the scratching post, I decided to combine the two into THE ULTIMATE CAT TOY OF FUN AND EXCITEMENT FOR CATS TO HAVE FUN WITH WHEN THEY’RE PLAYING WITH TOYS OF EXCITING FUN FOR CATS!!! I balanced the business card on top of the scratching post, and Wookie would leap up and get it down. She must have done it an half-dozen times before I shot the video below, and it was subsequently the last time she would do it.

Before watching the video, there are some things you should be made aware of:
1) that’s our new laminate flooring, now free from lumps after the second installation
2) The person you hear calling Wookie in the stupid baby voice is me
3) the person squealing with girlish delight at the end of the video is mokiejovis
4) if you turn it up really loud at the last 1 or 2 seconds you can hear mokie’s wife saying, “Aw, that’s so cute!”

Now for our feature presentation-

She’s a super-badass!

It might be like this all day.

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 18, 2006 @ 10:38 am
in music
. 13 Comments

For years I’ve trying to let people know that Matthew Sweet was morbidly obese. Granted, he’s a hell of a song-writer and musician. Now, I think I’ve discovered a cover-up. I’ve learned from a source at RCAM records that Sweet performs with a “body-actor” so that his voice comes through but someone else does all the guitar playing and fake singing. Crazy, right!?

If you can’t say something funny…

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 18, 2006 @ 9:36 am
in uncategorized
. 4 Comments

don’t say anything at all.

To all the haters

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 15, 2006 @ 10:31 am
in food, nog and work
. 25 Comments

Stephen Colbert understands me:

Also, bacon makes everything better:

That’s all I got, because I took the day off.

Double Entendre is French for “Penis Joke”

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 14, 2006 @ 9:42 am
in beer, food, potty humor and sex
. 25 Comments

Last night I ate my daily allowance of fiber in four little capsules. There’s really no reason for me to eat so much fiber. I usually have a fairly fibrous breakfast, and meals throughout the day further contribute to my my fiber intake, so by the time I ate my daily allowance of fiber, I had already eaten my daily allowance of fiber.

On a completely unrelated note, I woke up with a stomach-ache this morning. I showered, dressed, ate breakfast (which contained more fiber) and then came to work. Shortly after arriving at the office and turning on the computer there was an almost palpable tug pulling me in the direction of the restroom. My brain had relinquished control of my body to my innards, and they were steering my feet to the lavatory post-haste.

Once perched upon what would be my throne for the next ten minutes, I enjoyed the relative silence compared to the office bustling outside the door. This silence was quickly disturbed by the sounds of feet. Rarely does one person enter this bathroom while another person is occupying it, and even more rarely will a third person enter after that, so you can understand my surprise when two men walked in together.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t get that report to you on time. I’m naughty.”

I was flummoxed. Did one man just say to another man, “I’m naughty?” Has the tearoom trade started up again without my knowledge? And even if it had, wouldn’t it be completely unprofessional to proposition a coworker within earshot of an occupied stall?

The other person said nothing, so I can only assume that they gave the speaker the benefit of the doubt and assumed it was a Santa Claus “naughty/nice” reference and not a “I want to juggle your testicles with my tonsils” reference. Still, tis the season for double entendres so be careful when you’re throwing around phrases like “Where do you want the candy cane?” and “I would really love more stuffing.”

Speaking of double entendres, I heard some really good ones the other night:

On being surprised by steam from draining pasta- “That’s a great facial.”

On eating the heel of a piece of garlic bread- “I like the butt. I’ll take it.”

On the tastiness of the pasta sauce- “I’m all about the sausage.”

There were more, but alcohol and time have rendered them irretrievable.

Dear Grandma, do you want to enlarge your manhood with Cialis?

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 13, 2006 @ 9:44 am
in bitches and nerd stuff
. 21 Comments

This morning while I was slowly killing myself with bobble-headed talk-show television I saw an ad for what I’m sure is the dumbest invention since the automatic pocket-sized Nutwhacker/Eye-Gouger 3000.

The Presto.

Presto works like this, you plug in the power and hook it up to a phone line, and suddenly you’ll be getting emails from your family all the time… or so they would have you believe.

Here are some of the many problems I see with this device:

1) The price. It costs $150 for the thing, and another $10 per month to continue to use it. And if you use it for a year chances are you’re going to have to replace the shitty little print cartridge because the Presto forces you to print out simple emails on elaborately designed and colored templates. So that’s at best another 40 bucks per year. So for about $300 per year you can send your grandparents’ emails whenever you feel like it. You certainly couldn’t spend $300 on POSTAGE STAMPS to write them A GODDAMNED LETTER every now and then. Asshole.

2) Spam. I can hear the conversation now… “Burt. Burt! Why is this man trying to make your penis bigger?”
“Shut up Gertrude! I’m talking to the people at Western Union so we can get our hands on those millions of Nigerian dollars!”
“Burt! Now somebody wants to sell us a replica watch! … And now more pills. And more watches. And another guy wants to send money. And some woman wants to be your semen bucket.”
Their stupid email printer would, at some point, continuously spew emails as long as it was plugged in, wearing out the print cartridge faster, and further alienating your grandparents from technology.

3) Potential for abuse. Besides spam, there’s other potential for abuse, and I’m pretty sure you might already know what I’m talking about. You know that aunt that you have that sends you the stupid chain emails with the deliriously retarded claims about Coca Cola being made with fiberglass, and margarine being one molecule away from styrofoam? And how she never bothers to delete the 17 pages of forwarded addresses? And how she has an email signature comprised of Bible quotes, jingoistic rants, and kitty-cat jpgs that go on for another 6 pages? Yeah, she’s going to be fucking STOKED that she can email the grandparents now, and you can bet that she’ll be cc’ing you on that shit too. I think at this point they’ll probably be burning through new cartridges fortnightly. And because they’re too stupid or lazy to learn how to use a computer, you know they’re going to be to stupid or lazy to change the printer cartridges, so the printer will either be dry heaving out blank pages for months on end, or you’ll be called upon to magically produce a super-proprietary print cartridge every other week.
All of this is not to mention that you can also text-message the account just like any other email account. So when your bratty 15 year old cousin gets on her Crackberry and texts everyone on her contact list that, “OMG i totalee kised a boi 2nite and he touchd my boob n now i gotta change my pants” you can be assured that your grandparents get that message too. Because I’m sure your grandparents would much rather see a soulless piece of paper being spewed out of their email printer that reads, “hapy xmas gma + gdad” as opposed to an actual phone call. You know what? With grandkids like you, they’re probably already planning on celebrating Christmas with the complete contents of their medicine cabinets.

4) Finally, Presto is being marketed to folks who are too technologically resistant to actually use a computer to get email, so why are all the controls, options, and settings for Presto web-based? “Shit, I can’t use email, but I downloaded Firefox, installed some plugins, and now I’m messing around with the sourcecode on my new blog about how regular my bowel movements have become. Oh, and I set up all that Presto shit too. God, I hate email.”
And who the fuck is going to be emailing these people? All their other geriatric friends will have their goddamned Prestos too, so they sure as shit won’t be emailing each other. The only people who will be emailing will be family, and nothing says “we don’t give a shit about you liver-spotted old coots” more than giving them a device that makes it easier for you to not pick up the phone or stop by to say “Hi”.

I hereby decree that anyone who buys this for a friend or family member is a self-serving asshole who is also retarded. You wanna fight about it?

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