Friday, August 29, 2008

Of string and cottage cheese


There's a stranger in my house. He hides in my bathroom. I always seem to catch his eye as I'm heading into the shower...pervert. And then it slowly dawns on me who I'm seeing.

Michael Jackson had it right many years ago:

I'm starting with the man in the mirror
I'm asking him to change his ways

If you wanna make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself and then make a change, yey
Na na na, na na na, na na na na oh ho (Let's say you're a lyric transcriber, and you are asked to write out all the na's and oh's...what a stupid job)

Standing before me in the mirror stands a pale man with too much chest hair, and a poochy belly. How did I not see this before?? Did my shirts cover all 4 of my chins? I haven't bought new pants with a bigger waist recently. Perhaps it's because I pull them up to my nipples to fit.

It's a sobering thing to realize that when lions rule the world, you will be one of the first eaten, as you look more delicious than the others.

In an attempt to damn my ever-increasing waist-line, I've started up a diet of sorts.
I generally know what I do wrong:
Mcgriddle in the morning.
Nachos supreme at lunch.
Bacon cheeseburger for dinner.
And if I can get extra cheese on all of this, I'd appreciate it.
Couple this with the fact that my lard butt sits around all day in front of a computer, and I now have thighs that look like sacks of chewed up bubble gum.

So---first I decided to stop eating these things. Done.

But I wanted to take it a little further, so I contacted a good friend who has years of experience gaining and losing weight. He gave me some diet pointers and tips, which I secretly think he has done to foil any enjoyment in my life. He once said that 80% of our enjoyment in this life comes from eating. I think he severely understated the percentage.

I eat a protein bar every day for breakfast. I'm not talking yummy, candy protein bars...but nasty gooey things with 35-40 grams of protein. They try to brand the bars with flavors of "chocolate chunk" and "cookie dough," but these are lies. I think they have a list of flavors, and randomly assign them to different bars. Perhaps they think the brain can convince some people that what they are eating tastes of "cookies and cream," but to me it's more like hummus with a spoonful of shortening.

I eat a piece of chicken every day for lunch. Sometimes on a plain bun. Sometimes on a bed of rice. Sometime by itself. Sometimes with black beans. This is how vegetarians are born.

As a mid-afternoon snack, I've tried:
String cheese wrapped in roast beef.
Slurping down cottage cheese.
Slices of turkey with a few baked lays in between.
I think tuna pouches are in my future.

Sometimes I'd rather eat my own fingernails.

Dinners are my only respite in the day. My wife is a great cook, and my taste buds are resurrected each night.

Oh yes...and I have some protein shakes coming in the mail. 42 grams of protein per shake. I'm sure they won't taste like sand soup.

I've also began to run. I lumber 3 miles, and my body punishes me the entire way. My body is like a 1937 Plymouth with a manual crank. It takes it a while to get it going.
As I begin my run, the creaks and phantom muscle pains I feel almost convince me to turn back. By some miracle, the juices begin to flow, and my body resigns itself to its fate.
It attempts to fight back, hitting me with rounds of cramps, side-aches, and dizziness. I ignore these signs from my body, and trudge on.
By the end of the 3 miles, I hit it hard, and sprint to the end, as my body jiggles itself to a stop. Feeling like I just broke records, I look down at my watch and see 28 minutes.
28 freaking minutes to run 3 miles. I'm the slowest person on the planet.

On non-running days, I hit the weights hard. Did I mention that the heaviest dumbbell I own is 25 lbs? So perhaps when I say hitting it hard, I stretch the truth a little. I'm thinking about duct taping the 2 25's together. Would this qualify me as a redneck?

How long will this continue?
Until the word "ham-hocks" is no longer used when my shirt is removed.
Until I'm no longer winded from picking up children's toys.
When my body profile doesn't look like a series of roller coaster hills.
Until I don't have to constantly suck my gut in. (my stomach muscles should be nicely toned as I do this 24 hours a day)
When my gut doesn't appear to be ripples of fatty skin, like an impending hurricane headed towards my chest.

And when I reach this point, I'm going to go eat a Mcgriddle...and start the entire process again.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Dirty talk

Growing up, curse words were generally frowned upon in my house. While I consider this a good thing, it meant that I didn't fully understand the meaning of different phrases that were tossed around the schoolyard.

In 3rd grade I heard the phrase "that sucks." This one stuck with me, and from that point on, "sucks" was part of my regular vocabulary.
"You suck."
"That sucks."
"How sucky."
I found there were many uses for the word.

What I didn't realize was that my Mom didn't like me using the word. I didn't quite grasp how much she disliked it until she sat me down one day:

Mom: Do you know what "suck" means?
Me: No.
Mom: Then why do you say it?
Me: I don't know.
Mom: Well, guess what it means?
Me: ...
Mom: It means to suck a man's penis.

You know what....??? I suppose her tactic worked, as I never felt the same when using that word.


In other news:::

My beloved Utes travel to Ann Arbor this weekend to give the Wolverines of Michigan a run for their money in front of 107,000 fans. I had hoped this game would fly under the radar for the press and the Michigan team, but alas, I think this one has built up some steam.
Michigan sits at a 3 point favorite, which shows that on a neutral field, Vegas would put the Utes up just a bit on the Wolverines.
Let's pray that they win as I just invested 60 bucks a month on Direct TV, and if we lose the first game, I'll be cursing the 2 year contract I signed for another 729 days.



And lastly:::

I have proven that a pale fat man can still water-ski...although not as well as I did 10 years ago.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Going Postal


The post office is quickly becoming one of my least favorite places to visit.
It's climbed into the top five of "places to avoid" along with Walmart, Dairy Queen, Hagrid's office, and work restrooms with multiple stalls.

Unfortunately, it became necessary that I head to the post office to take care of a couple things. I generally get myself in the right "state of mind" beforehand. It's kind of like preparing to lift weights, where you listen to loud music, take an energy drink, put on a speedo, etc. To get prepared to enter the post office, I try to listen to Paul Harvey on the way in the car, and drive 10 mph under the speed limit.

I thought I would be smart and show up at 10:45 AM to beat the lunch rush. This was also the idea of 135 ladies over the age of 74. I think the post office at 10:45 AM is the new Sizzler at 4:30 PM.
I tried to be courteous and hold the door for a bunch of old ladies, and ended up 8 people later in line as a result. I swear I heard a couple of them call me a "sucker" under their breath as they passed me in the doorway. Or perhaps they thought that after their transaction, they would get a sucker. That's the bank you blue-hair.

I was prepared for a 20 minute wait, and was not disappointed. Each patron heading up to the next available window inundated the employee with the most ridiculous questions you could imagine.
"When is it going to get there?" "Is fruitcake considered perishable?" "I didn't realize that 14 gallons of lighter fluid was considered hazardous."

It is my estimation that 72% of customers in the post office have no clue what they are doing.
I suggest a 3-line wait system based on the knowledge preparedness of the customer.

The first line would be entitled:
All forms filled out, and you know exactly what you want.

The second would be:
You have more than 5 items to mail, or more than 1 question.

And the third (and longest) line would say:
You have no clue why you're here.

It would be so much more pleasant to go to the post office under these circumstances. Unfortunately, you'd have people slated for line #3, see the short line #1, and move over. They'd get to the front, and ask if they could cash their paycheck to go to Walmart. I'd make them go back to the end of line 3.

While waiting in line, I noticed that their "menu" had changed. No longer was there a shipping type, and a base price. Now it just lists the different "services" they provide. Do they raise their prices so often that they can't put up a normal price list. Pretty soon you'll see "market price" next to most services. Mailing baseball cards sold on eBay shouldn't cost as much as Maine Lobster.

I also don't understand why the post office employees are always trying to "up sell" you to more expensive shipping terms.
For 6 dollars I can ship it 2-3 day, but for 58 dollars, it is guaranteed overnight. I felt like I was at the Olive Garden when the servers push stuffed mushrooms and mocha cappuccino's in order to increase their "up sell" status. Don't forget the Chocolate Bow tie Cheesecake!! (Oh yeah...I worked at the OG for 3 months. I was totally Bona festa)

After mailing my package, I headed over to the "special room in the back" where I needed to submit an application to get a passport. I had previously filled out the application online in order to expedite this process.
I handed the employee my materials, and had them promptly shoved back into my face.

Post Office Ornery Person: Well...it looks like you're not leaving the country.
Me: Why not?
POOP: You need to have this completely filled out.
Me: Yes...I did it online.
POOP: You didn't fill out the birthplace of your father and mother.
Me: I know...these were not required online. The required items had a "red star" next to them. They must not be necessary.
POOP: OK, fine. I'll mail them in, and you can just have them sent back with a letter stating the items you missed filling out.
Me: But this was on the secretary of state's web-site.

(silence)

POOP: You can come back when you have these items completed. Oh, look here, you also need to fill in your complete SSN.
Me: Is there a special SSN, which has more than 9 digits?
POOP: Oh..never mind.
Me: I'll call my Mom to get the remaining information.
(POOP walks away. Probably to take a smoke break.)

After completing all items, I headed even further into the depths of the post office for some passport pictures.
No sooner had I sat down, when she took the picture.

Me: Oh...I wasn't ready.
POOP: I was.
Me: So....we're done?

(Looking at the picture, I appear to be in some sort of REM sleep as my eyes are rolled back into my head. I suppose that when I listed any aliases on my application, I should have put down "Hellraiser.")

POOP: Yup, you should receive your passport in 4-6 weeks.
Me: (feigning cheeriness) Thanks!
POOP: You'll need to take this slip and pay up front.
Me: Wait..I can't pay back here?
POOP: Nope, we don't process payments here.

So I trudge back into the millennial line of blue-hairs and soccer moms. By now the full lunch rush was in effect, and I waited between a lady shipping a home-made cookies to grand-kids and a guy who went into the post office solely to purchase a Boston Celtics framed mirror. I kid you not.
I wonder if stamps.com will give me an ulcer like the PO....if not, craptacular...I'm in.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Team Meetings---brought to you by Marvel

I'm in meetings every day. They're terrible, and I personally feel that no more than 20% of them actually have any benefit.
I don't understand the breed of people that enjoy meetings or think that there is much accomplished. In fact, I've suggested to a few of the meeting coordinators that we should switch to a bi-weekly or monthly meeting, but was met with a confused look of horror like I'd just committed treason.. How dare I??!!

I'm not what you call a "major contributor" in most meetings.
Meetings are supposed to be about "action items," and if you don't participate, you shouldn't attend. I've gotten to the point where I'll share my data so quickly and succinctly that you're likely to miss it if you aren't paying attention.
Is this truly bad? I know that the next 3 people after me will start a mini-convention discussing some small problem that has no consequence to the bottom line.

Truly Winded Idiot talker: It's come to my attention that when I pull fab reports, that the data must be pulled within 24 hours or it goes over to the backup server.
TWIT's buddy: So, who can we talk to, in order to have this changed?
TWIT: I don't know, but it takes at least 3 minutes to access the data on the backup server.
TWIT's minion: What if I have to pull 20 different lots...that would be an hour!!

Me: Just access the server once, and copy all 20 lots over at once.

TWIT: (interjecting) I'll contact Bill's boss to have this fixed.
TWIT: Does anyone else have anything else they want to say about this?

Me: (please...please...nobody speak)

TWIT's sidekick: Perhaps we should write a script that will automatically pull the data.
TWIT: Great idea. Are the files comma delimited?
AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON....
(14 minutes later)
TWIT: Great...I think is a good start.

Me: I just downloaded 354 files since we started.
(Dirty looks all around)

I usually sit in the meetings and watch the characters around me....it's like a comic book.
Take these for example:

The Nodder:
You'll never miss this guy. His eyes are blood-shot, hair tousled, and is riding the pony for the entire meeting.
His head bounces up and down, or perhaps he'll try to rest it on his hand, only to pull a full-forehead table slap. This guy is begging for whiplash.

The Eater:
This is the Brad Pitt of the meeting-room. He's always eating something. One day it's a muffin, the next a bagel. I'm waiting for him to walk in with a double cheeseburger and start dipping fries in ketchup during a PowerPoint. I'd like to see him suppress his "burger burps" during the meeting.

The Blackberry slave:
NO!!---Don't do it. I know you just heard the tell-tale buzz of your blackberry, but you've bothered everyone else about 24 times in the last 10 minutes checking you e-mail. Oh...it buzzed 3 more time while I typed this? Did you have all your junk mail forwarded or something?? Only Tila Tequila gets this much mail.

Coffee guy:
I didn't even realized they sold coffee cups this large. It's like he grabbed the Super Big Gulp cup and filled it with Joe. He can't go a literal 30 seconds without taking a sip. Is the meeting at 4pm?? Who cares....gotta have it!!

The typer:
We all have laptops for our personal pc's which is quite handy in most meetings and work. Unfortunately this leads other "activities" during the meeting. I didn't realize that a human being could be so noisy while typing. It's like we're holding a meeting in a WW1 telegraph bunker.

Share or Die:
He's got something to say regardless of the situation. Does he have anything relevant for the subject? Probably not...perhaps he likes to hear himself talk. Perhaps he thinks others like to hear him talk. I'm certain the latter is not true.

Hard-ass:
This is where meetings start to get interesting and I tune in. This guy defines where the the rubber meets the road, and will publicly call out anyone who is under performing or late on deadlines. He is the main reason I go to meetings.

Whispering corner:
Yeah...I can hear you. I just heard you whisper about how bad you hated the movie "Hitman." Yeah---you whisper like my 3 year old...no concept of decibel level.

Rashweiafewefsadcfw:
I suppose you're very smart, and I'm glad we are paying for your work Visa---but I can't understand a damn thing you're saying. It's like you're vomiting Asian alphabet soup. Did you just ask me if I'd like to ride your pony?

And then there are the eye-glazers. This is the silent majority group of which I am a member. We wait patiently for the meeting to end, trying to decide if we should fake a pee, or just resign ourselves to the fate ahead.
I gotta go...TWIT wants to show me his new ideas.

Monday, August 25, 2008

The Daily Buzz

It always bugs me when I go to get a hair-cut, and end up with the fat lady.
The only length I know for the hair on the top of my head is "finger length."
When sausage fingers cuts the hair, it requires that I come back and get it cut again in 3 weeks as opposed to 5 weeks when the skinny girl with purple hair does the job. I think it's a "Great clips" fat finger conspiracy.



Scrivel.com has tons of funny writers. And it also has me. I'm kind of on the JV team compared to some of them. Either way, they let me put my crap up over there, so be sure to go today and check out my new post. CLICK HERE FOR WHAT I CONSIDER FUNNY, BUT MOST PEOPLE DON'T.
Now that the Olympics are over, I think it's time to come up with some new events.
How about "electric fence" pole vaulting?

I also think that rhythmic gymnastics should be integrated with competitive eating.

I'd like: Let the Chinese athlete's families live when they don't win a medal.

Most people would like "Women's beach volleyball in the rain with skimpy white bikinis."--Oh crap..they already did that one. Schawing--gold medal salute.

I think "dirty text messaging" would be a bang. No abbreviations allowed. .3 point deduction.

And lastly, I think they should have a quad-decathlon where 40 events are performed from all walks of the Olympics. 3-meter platform one day, then ping-pong the next...awesome. I'm starting my training right now. Do they have a "channel changing" event?



Driving through my town this weekend, I saw a "yard sale" sign that said 50% off everything. Ummm....obviously these people have no clue what a yard sale entails. Everybody that goes to a yard sale wants 50% off the top...and will start the "bidding" much lower than that. I hate them..(as you can read about here)
Maybe they had some margin they had to make on the sale, and "corporate" OK'd the 50% off sale. Duh...



I've heard rumors that Mccain is close to picking a VP on the heels of the Obama/whatever his name is announcement.
His rumored decision is the perfect choice.
McCain/Federline---2008---Ya'll ain't ready!!



It makes perfect sense on so many levels.
First it gives Mccain the "youthful" image he's been looking for.
It puts someone on the Rep. ticket that screams "welfare."
KFed is a proven family man. (In a court of law no less)
They can start printing the Mc-Fed 2008 banners right away.
And they obviously need someone to take away votes from the Hilton camp.


See more Paris Hilton videos at Funny or Die

Friday, August 22, 2008

Solitary Man

I eat alone. Every day, I eat lunch alone.

A daily ritual is to decide where I should eat alone.

Should I:

Eat alone at my desk?
Eat alone in my car?
Eat alone in the cafeteria?
Eat alone at a restaurant?

It didn't always used to be this way. At my old job, I didn't eat alone. I always went with a group of guys out to lunch. It really didn't matter why I was invited...pity...shame...secret crush. (oh yes...they were all guys. You never know.)
We'd regale ourselves with disgusting humor, laugh at the world around us, rib each other till it cut to the core, and decide if we were fat enough to go get ice cream after our lunch. Every day, lunch was an hour of respite from the mundane---the repetition. Good times.

It's not like there isn't anyone to go to lunch with at my new job. In fact, I'm invited quite often...mostly turning down the invitations.
Perhaps they don't live up to the old group. Perhaps I'm not a friendly guy anymore. But...perhaps I'd just rather eat alone.

The other day I took a nap in my car under the shade of a large Oak tree.
The day after that, I listened to music parked at the base of a mountain forest.
I always get exactly what I want to eat.
I can usually get through 30-40 pages on a lunch with a good book.

I eat alone....and I think I like it.

Sit back...and enjoy the ride with the sequined one.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Right laners....Unite!!

I'm always in a hurry to get anywhere in the car. I never get in and think, "Well, I'm 15 minutes early...perhaps I'll drive 10 under the speed limit and enjoy the ride." My brain is hard-wired to calculate the latest possible instant when I can get in the car and make it to my destination.
Barring any set-backs, I always get where I'm going at the exact time I planned.

Unless I hit traffic.

You can always tell when there is a lane closure up ahead. Cars start the inevitable creep to merge into the right lane. The right-laners get a little protective with their space, and bunch up like fish swimming near a predator...hoping that a car doesn't signal to move in front of them.
Most of the time there are good driving manners all around, and people merge in plenty of time before the lane merges.
Most of the time.....

For some reason, there are a select few who feel that they need to stay in the left lane while everybody else is in the right lane. These are the left-laners.
You can see why...the lane is wide open for quite a ways until you hit the cones that forcibly move them over...one can get 50 or 60 cars ahead of where they would have been.
They fly past everyone and get to the last possible point to merge---and some old bag will inevitably let them in...thus starting a chain reaction of "brake light nirvana" in the right lane. Multiply this by 25 left-laners merging at the last minute...and therein lies the reason for the slow right lane in the first place.

What could be the cause of this douchetacular behavior?

You must be in some sort of hurry or emergency?
--Yeah...and the other 95% of cars are out for a Sunday drive. The collective rage of the drivers you are passing is almost enough to crumple your car with pure thought.

You didn't "realize" that the merge was coming??
--This is my favorite. A car comes speeding up, and then at the last minute you see the driver get a "pretended" look of confusion and panic...as they merge right on top of a Dodge Avenger. You may even get a hand-wave and non-verbal sorry from this joker, but believe me "my friends," it is fake.

You just don't care???
--There will be a 4th mouth created for you in the head of Satan...and you will dwell with Brutus, Cassius and Judas Iscariot. Welcome to the 9th circle of Hell.

Right-laners...it's time for us to unite.
I know you're out there. I'm one of you. We're the silent majority.

You may be using the following "tactics" to try to keep the left-laners at bay--but they are just not working:

Trying to block both lanes in order to keep traffic flowing.
--This does not work, as you will have most cars swing wide around the lane, and go around you.

Letting 15 cars in front of you leading up to the merge.
--Is there not an un-written "every other car" rule in effect? You are not helping.

But there is one thing that you can do...which seems foreign to most people::
DO NOT LET THEM MERGE!!

Warning---You will be honked at, flipped off, and potentially rammed. Do not let this discourage you from the goal of forcing the left-laners to wait longer than if they would have just merged 500 yards back.
If you want to avoid this confrontation, quietly look ahead as you leave 4 inches between you and the car in front. Do not respond to taunts or threats, and if you need to respond with the bird....please oh please give them the double deuce tribute.

What would happen if you had ALL right-laners at a merge situation? Well, it happened a couple weeks ago driving home from vacation.
It was unbelievable. The right lane was full for about a mile leading into the merge. The left lane was a ghost town. Traffic moved along swiftly... people had smiles on their faces...the lamb laid down with the lion...at that point in time, it was the happiest place on the planet.

If our "right-laner" pact fails....I'm installing swords on my wheels like in "Gladiator." I'll void your Big-O warranty right there.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Reason #53 why you shouldn't shop at the Wal-marts

Recently, I was walking through the myriad of aisles at Wal-mart searching for some sort of protein bar. I have no idea where anything is in this store. When I need something, I just start on the first aisle, and work my way to the back. If I don't seem to find what I'm looking for, I just leave the store.
83% of the time that I ask for directions to an item, they send me around the store 3 times until I eventually find out that they don't carry it. I'm sure it's a game that the 9 store employees play with unsuspecting customers such as myself....or else they have no clue themselves. It's a toss-up.

As I made my way down the 6th or 7th aisle, I passed a family looking at the pickles. I won't describe them as this would be judgemental and potentially racist. I do know that they spoke English, because I overheard the following.

Legal immigrant Dad: I don't want the sweet ones.
Legal immigrant Mom: How am I supposed to know which is which?
LID: Check it.
LIM: Huh?
LID: Check it.
LIM: OK.
Mom grabs the bottle and starts twisting the lid.

I immediately stopped in my tracks as I could sense something big was happening here. I go for my cell phone, but didn't have enough cover to take a picture. They sensed my presence, and turned away from me....but not before I see the Mom "sniff" the open pickle jar.

And then, she puts the lid back on.... and places it back on the shelf.

As I rounded the corner and walked through the plethora of Campbell's soup and chili, I absorbed the experience that just occurred. As I re-played it in my mind like a movie, I realized that I was going to miss the best part--the ending.

I turned back into the pickle aisle and found it very crowded, but the nasal tester family was still there. Amazingly enough, they were still looking at pickles. Obviously I stand out in Wal-mart (I consider this a good thing), for when they saw me, they quickly walked out of the aisle...with no pickle jar in tow.

I stood there and faced a decision...seek out the "tainted" pickle jar and throw it away...or walk away.

Luckily, Wal-mart made the decision for me. The aisle quickly became filled with "lookie-lou's" who had no regard for human decency or life as they navigated their carts like ocean-liners through a canal. I still held hope that I could reach the nostrily-offended bottle. I tried to maneuver through the wasteland of handicap carts, and women wearing sweat-pants with front butts, but got nothing but evil stares, and sighs that I was trying to go "against the flow." So I walked away.

Do they even sell sweet pickles anymore?
Perhaps they were looking for a bottle that said "not-really-sweet," or "semi-sweet" rather than "dill?"

Either way, I'm always sure to check the "fresh-pop" lids on my baby-dills now....although a nose-hair wouldn't be the most disgusting thing I've ever seen at Wal-mart. But that's reason #79 why you shouldn't shop at the Wal-marts.

Monday, August 18, 2008

A funny thing happened on the way to the Olympics...

In my ongoing quest to overcome my sexist views, I thought there was no better time to watch woman's sports in action than the Olympics.
I picked a fan favorite to get my feet wet--women's gymnastics. Not only did I find myself enjoying it...but I was captivated---more on this later.

As I watched each team perform their different routines, I was deeply alarmed by one group of girls--the Chinese team. Now, I'm sure you've noticed that most of them look no older than a normal 5th grader. In addition, they paint their eyes up with this hooker blue eye shadow, and stuff them into size 6 (children's) leotards.

I would be watching a routine by some random gymnast, and then BAM---they'd show one of these creepy Chinese girls for a split-second. A few minutes would go by, and then again--BAM--a split-second shot of them. I had this foreboding feeling that something terrible was going to happen...and then it all made sense. These random clips of the Chinese gymnasts was akin to seeing the Grady girls in "The Shining."


First Danny Torrance gets lost on his trike in the Hotel



Then BAM--Kubrick flashes the Grady girls for a split-second



And then you get the rushing blood---which I still don't understand.


After making it through the entire gymnastics routine unscathed, and not having to see Scatman Crothers take an axe to the chest, I found myself riveted by every Olympic competition.

From handball to synchronized diving. From weightlifting to hockey. (the summer kind)
I cannot stop watching. I don't know what it is...but I'm convinced that if you took a piece of turd, slapped an American flag on the front, and put it in a burning paper bag on a random Chinese doorstep--I'd be pulling for the poop.
The good thing, is that there is only another week that I need to stay up till 2 AM watching highlights of badminton. My only regret is that there isn't "Ultimate Frisbee" in the Olympics. Perhaps they'll add blogging to the Olympics....if so--this post would be disqualified for bad humor.

Gotta go...I think they may have a 16-man rowing race soon.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Pork of the morning to ya!!


This may the best or worst thing I've ever seen in my entire life.

The Wake'n bacon is brought to you by Matty Sallin, and may be the next generation in our morning wake-up ritual. (methinks he should spend a little more time on his web-site rather than converting easy-bake ovens into pork-warmers)

You can read the details on his site, but the gist, is that you are greeted bright and early by the smell of cooking bacon. Screw that first cup of Sanka...you got pork on the menu.

It's been well documented that all men love bacon. Now, waking up has never been so exciting.

Don't be disturbed the "nuclear-bomb" clock on the front of the clock, nor the fact that the clock looks like something you created in 7th grade wood shop. All that matters is that you have fresh bacon every morning---but wait---don't you have to lay a piece of raw bacon in the clock every night? Suddenly this clock turned into a trichinosis factory.

Is this thing roach-proof? Is anything roach proof? I love the smell of roasted pork and roach in the morning. I believe roaches are lower in fat.

This could open up an entire new group of bedroom cooking accessories.

I'm hoping to see the "iron waffle maker" sometime in the near future.


I hear that hair dryer popcorn maker will be the next big thing.
And last but not least, is the shower crab steamer.

Hey Matty...those ideas are on the house. Although this post my qualify as "prior art."

Oh, gotta go...I'm warming some pizza in my alarm clock. Now if I just figure out how to fix it so it doesn't blink 12:00 all the time.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Time for deep reflection.

Recently, I decided to go through my mp3's and get rid of a bunch of music I didn't listen to anymore and place everything into a central location on my PC. During this exercise, I noticed a disturbing trend.
I probably have 30 Gigs of music. I purchased hundreds of CD's in my teens and early 20's.
As I organized this music, an uncomfortable truth was staring me back in the face---I did not have any music from a female singer.

This isn't literally true, but pretty close. Of the hundreds of albums on my mp3 player, only 3 have female lead singers--The Sundays, Tori Amos, and Tiffany. (I know...I know....Tiffany? This was in fact the 2nd cassette tape I ever purchased in my young life. The first?? Erasure. I was not a popular kid)
I found one song here and there by a female singer, but mostly it was stuff that I sucked through the Internet back in the days of kazaa when I downloaded everything in sight.

This got me thinking...what's my deal with female singers??

After some reflection, I realized it just wasn't music.

I hate the following shows: The Closer, Saving Grace, Sex in the City, Desperate Housewives, Ghost Whisperer, Greys Anatomy.
I love the following shows: Dexter, The Wire, 24, Eureka, Battlestar Galactica, Reno 911.

I prefer both Obama and McCain over Hilary.

I watch almost every men's sports that exists.
I cannot bear to watch any women's sports---except the following: Women's beach volleyball, mud wrestling, and pole dancing.

A trend seems to be developing here.

All the humor blogs on my blog-roll (to the left) are all men.

I like Simon more than Paula.

Favorite comedians: Jim Gaffigan, Phil Hendrie, Chevy Chase.
Least favorite comedian: Paula Poundstone.

When in a store, I go straight to a male employee if I have a question...and straight to the woman when I'm checking out.

By Diesel...it must be true. I'm a sexist pig. (or I'm gay)

So, in an ongoing quest to improve myself, I am setting some goals to help me overcome this "shortcoming."

1: I vow to watch one of the above shows that I despise for 1 month. I will also not use the term "lick and spank" at any time during the show.

2: I'll attempt to watch any women's sporting event...as long as it not the WNBA. What a bore.

3: I'll revere the name of "Edward" from this day forth as I cannot live up to his standard.

4: I am embarking on a new diet. Perhaps I feel a competition with other women as my man-boobs are growing larger by the day. By shrinking them, I may feel more at peace.

5: Gender-forced affirmative action must be taken with my blog-roll.

6: I will force myself to watch 1 hour a day of Gwen Stefani videos on youtube. Other artists that I should consider watching are: Nelly Furtado, Jessica Simpson, and Fergie. Perhaps I should place "I think we're alone now" by Tiffany on repeat on my mp3 player for a couple hours each day.

7: I will read the articles when I receive my next SI swimsuit issue.

8: Get a "Brazilian."

9: Call Dr. Laura, and declare that "I am my kids Mom."

10: Join Oprah's book club.

To be completely honest, I clean all the bathrooms in my house every week, and clean up after dinner. I'm also slightly uneasy that my wife will read this and be...upset.



Perhaps if I went through this, I would have a little more empathy and understanding.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Riding in car with Boy.

On a recent weekend getaway, it was necessary to drive 2 cars. I talked my 3 year-old son into driving with me while the rest of the kids were with my wife. This was a challenge in itself as my wife’s car is like “Toys R Us”. Books, movie screens, toys, food, and soda pop are available at any time.
My car is like a motel room. It has a certain purpose. My car serves its purpose to get me back and forth from work. No frills.

13 minutes into the 2 hour drive, I heard my son say he was bored. I realized I had not grabbed anything from the other car to entertain him. I shuffled through the glove box to find something he’d enjoy, coming up with a pen. I had some junk mail on the front seat, so I thought he’d be able to draw for a while using these items.

2 minutes later, the letter hit the ground. “You all finished drawing bud?” He said he didn’t like the pictures on the junk mail, and that he wanted a coloring book. I suppose my Vanguard 401K account has been doing rather poorly this year, and I didn’t blame him for chucking it.

Well, I’m not a first-time Dad. I still had some tricks up my sleeve.

“Hey bud, you want to listen to the radio?” I ask.

“Yes…but I get to pick the music,” he says.

As we were in the middle of a desert, there was only 1 station that had reception. This station obviously had not received any new cassette tapes in some time as the 2 songs we heard back to back were “My prerogative” by Bobby Brown, and then “One night in Bangkok." I don't even remember who sang that--was it Murray Head or Frankie goes to Hollywood? I digress. These 2 songs were enough to prompt him that the music should be shut down. I didn’t blame him.

Ok, I know…every kid loves “I spy.” This will surely be a winner.

And sure enough, the boy was excited to play.

Round one:
Boy: I spy something blue.
Me: Is it the sky?
Boy: Nope…it’s the sky.

Ok…I’ll go next to show him how this works.

Round two:
Me: I spy something white.
Boy: I spy something white.
Me: No…I spy something white.
Boy: No…I spy something white.

Hmm, this was not working as I planned. I quickly went over the US sanctioned “I spy” rules with the boy. I don't think he heard me.

Round three:
Boy: I spy something green.
Me: Is it the trees?
Boy: Nope.
Me: Is it the bushes?
Boy: Nope...it’s the trees.
Me: I said that already.
Boy: No you didn’t.
Me: Yes I did.
Boy: No you didn’t.
(repeat the last 2 lines 47 times)

I decided to give this “game” one last chance.

Round four:
Me: I spy something yellow.
Boy: I spy something yellow.
Me: No…you’re supposed to guess what’s yellow.
Boy: No, you are.
Me: No, I already know what’s yellow.
Boy: I spy something yellow.

And then spontaneously he decides to chant “Dad is weird” while hitting his hand on his mouth like when you used to pretend to be an Indian as a kid. This went on for roughly 24 minutes. Any attempt to quell the chant resulted in a doubling of decibel level.

After tiring of this, he entertained himself the rest of the drive, as I was obviously far too boring. (and weird)

He did chime in from time to time to let me know the following:


Dad, I need to go poop.
Dad, I ate my booger.
I need something to eat. (I thought he just did?)
Look Dad, I’m licking my knees.
Hey Dad, I can look at the sun.

I realize that I’ll probably never be able to talk him into leaving the “Toys R Us” car again…but I’ll try, as he’s much funnier and entertaining than Glenn Beck or ESPN radio that I’d normally listen to. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to attempt to lick my knees.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Oh say can you C++




#include "funny.h"

int main () {

for (2008day=1; 2008day<366; 2008day++)
{

Click here;

if (Is_there_a_post == False)
Click here;
else if (currentpost == funny)
Click here;
else
Click here;
}
return 0;
}

Now...before you hardcore douche-monger code demons go screaming at me about data types, syntax, initialization, or operator overload...save it. Luckily, I wrote my own library called funny.h which does all sort of magical and amazing things like enable you to produce poor code, and miraculously fix everything. So bite it.


If this is VERY unfunny and you just skimmed to the end, click HERE. I have a new post today at scrivel.com which may be funny.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Stop....Hammertime revisited!!

As I'm out of town....you get a post from my past. This blog is unmanned, and the author is not responsible for any spam porn comments left by sneaky foreigners.

I live in a smaller town. This means less stop-lights and more stop signs. I don't think people in my town understand what STOP means....it almost seems to sub-consciously be telling their brains to STOP functioning.
I won't delve into the idiocracy of my towns-folk at 4-way stops, and instead focus on something that obviously wasn't taught in drivers education at the local schools--the 2-way stop.
As seen below, the 2-way stop has 2 stop signs, with the other 2 directions not stopping at all. The cars stopping at the signs must always yield to the perpendicular directions.
But...what if another car is at the stop sign directly across from you...what to do? There are a few types of drivers I consistently meet in these situations.



First are the lookie-loo's. They kind of look over at you to see if you'll go first, then look at the other lanes of traffic, and then look back at you, then look back again. I literally think that if 2 lookie-loo's were to meet at a 2-way stop, they'd be there for hours.

Next you have the "middle-aged wished he was back in high school football guy." It doesn't matter if this guy was at the intersection first. He's going to go first no matter what happens. And if you try to pull out in front of him, he'll honk, flip the bird, and call you all manner of obscenities. In reality, he's just pissed because he didn't want to be a loan agent at the credit union, and truly thinks that he could have made the NFL.

You may run across "Jeep Wagoneer lady." Many of you may not know what this is. In your larger, more developed cities, you may call them "soccer moms" or "mini-van moms." In my town, it seems that the vast majority of people hold on to the first car they purchased. You may have heard the 1979 Jeep Wagoneer was a beauty. I can tell you first-hand that it is not. Well, this driver does not comprehend or notice that there is another driver in the opposing lane. She may pull out at anytime and run right over the top of your Cutlass Supreme. You may wonder if she's on a cell phone, or texting, but as we are still a developing city, do not have access to such luxuries. Most likely you will see a McGriddle, or Sonic toaster sticks. The tell-tale smell of Maple syrup is the dead giveaway.

Lastly you have "hairnet lady." You've run across her many times. She's headed out to Smith's Food king to pick up more kitty litter. She's had her hair done at the salon the previous week, and is wearing that quasi-see-through hairnet to protect it from the elements. You can also spot her from behind as you'll notice towels over the back seat, and box of tissues in the rear window of the car. This driver will wave every other car in the intersection through as you sit behind her late for work. Be aware at all times for this driver....they may put the car into reverse at any time for no apparent reason.

What are the odds that you actually run across somebody that has any clue about "right of way?" Well, for the 14 people who will read this blog over the next 3 weeks, let's pray that this may be informative.

Simply put--Whomever arrives first, has the right of way. But you're going straight, while they are turning left....sorry...they arrived at the stop first, and have the right of way. What if you both arrive at the same time? Well, the person going straight or turning right has the right of way. What if you're both going straight? Then you both go at the same time, roll down your windows, high five as you pass, and both yell--"Stop...Hammertime" in unison.

Friday, August 8, 2008

Point A to point B in style

As I drove home from work the other day, I noticed something I thought quite odd. There was a grown man commuting on one of those electric scooters like my brother had when he was 14. I snapped a quick cell picture because I found it interesting.

Methinks he won't be breaking the speed limit


Once I pulled past this guy, I noticed something else--I WORK WITH HIM. Yeah...he was cruising along, ID badge flapping in the wind. I know we have both motorcycle parking and bike racks at work, but where do you park "children's toys?"

As I drove off, I started laughing..."who rides a scooter to work?" Generally, my mocking stems from jealousy, because the more I thought about it, I secretly wished that I could drive a scooter to work. . Plus I could totally "grind a rail" on the way. (Is that even a phrase anymore? When I used to be into skateboarding 20 years ago it was)

This guy on the scooter was just a constant reminder to me about all the fuss over high gas prices. You cannot turn on any news program, radio talk show, or have a discussion with any random person without high gas prices coming up.
In fact, if you search Google for alternative transportation, you get 2,820,000 links.
Google--gas prices--and you get 35,600,000 hits.
Google "That tears it" and you only get 672. And most of them are people who listen to Phil Hendrie rather than those that link to my site.
I did find funny pictures in my quick search of "alternative transportation" (below) but did not find anything very funny in my search of "that tears it."

Someone needs to punch him in the head



Adds a new dimension to "open container" laws.


The CO2 emissions that this lady saved by slaving her dogs to work will be more than offset as I drive to her house and burn it down as this is the dumbest thing I've ever seen. (besides the guy with the table fan strapped to his back)


Have a Yabba-dabba doo time stopping that.


Chris Martin has nothing to do with alternative transportation, except that if he'd lower the freaking prices on his concert tickets, perhaps we'd be able to afford more gas---unless that is his strategy. I know he's a green-mongrel, so perhaps jacking up the price will not allow people to buy more gas, thus saving the environment. Brilliant Shaggy Chris Martin. Scoobey doobey doo!!


I want to get from point A to point B as quickly and efficiently as possible. If a piggy-back ride were cheaper and faster than a car, I'd be interested.

The "in-your-face" election coverage double-fists high gas prices down your throat at a Kobayashi-like pace. I understand that this is a real problem for many people across the country, but I just don't see it.

I don't know anyone personally who has had to go without food or shelter in order to purchase gas. Even in my small blue-collar town, there is a 45 minute wait at Texas Roadhouse most nights. I know that people here consider this fine dining--this is beside the point...bring your family there, and you're out 75 bucks minimum. That's easily a full tank of gas. (unless you drive a Suburban like myself--I tell people that it's not miles per gallon, but miles per gallon per occupant)

The Dark Knight passed 400 million dollars in record time.
At any given time during the day, McDonald's has a 6 car line in the drive-thru.
Who doesn't have a flat-screen TV nowadays. (I don't...sniff)

I know I'm speaking in generalities here, but I think you get my point. We hear of retail shopping and consumer spending roughly flat or slightly down---Is it really as bad as the media makes it out to be? Until gas prices cause people to make a decision between Christian Bale doing "smoker voice" and getting to work, I'm not buying the media's oil-Jihadist viewpoint.

If I bought school clothes for my kids one year, and the next year they had doubled in price...I'd bitch about it, but buy them anyway. If they doubled the next year, I still may buy them. But there might be a point where I decide to make clothes myself, steal from the neighbors, or get a frequent shopper card at Goodwill. The same thing is true with gas.
We can afford the gas, but we also love to complain. As an American, it's in our blood. Take this conversation I overheard at a local sandwich joint. I was waiting in line behind "trendy Mom" and her 2 adult daughters who were ordering.

Sandwich dude: What do you want on your sandwich?
Bugging daughter 1: Ummm....well...what can I get?
SD: Any of these toppings that I'm standing in front of.
BD1: Ok...Everything.
SD: Onions and peppers?. (starts placing toppings)
BD1: Yes.

BD1: WHAT are you doing?
SD: Huh?
BD1: I don't want Jalapeno peppers.
SD: But you said you wanted peppers...??
BD1: I meant those yellow peppers.
SD: Ok. (pulls off Jalapenos)
BD1: I CANNOT eat that with the Jalapeno juice on everything.
SD: Ok.....
BD1: I'll need a whole new sandwich.
SD: Ok. (starts making new one) Can you tell me exactly what you want on the sandwich?
BD1: Everything.
SD: Not everything...because you don't want Jalapenos.
Bugging daughter 2: (As an aside to "trendy Mom.") He messed up my veggie sandwich too. I wanted Light mustard, and he totally like spread it on thick. (you guys are perverts if you paused on this last sentence)
Trendy Mom: They better have "Diet Coke."

Me: (to sandwich dude) I'll just take her jalapeno-sauce sandwich. Hold the onion.
SD: I hate this f@#ing job.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

I couldn't make this crap up

Pull up a chair and take a look at the world in which we live.

Booger the Pit Bull is back! All 5 of him:
I wish this wasn't true. This lady mortgaged her house to the tune of 50K, and had her beloved dead dog "Booger" cloned---5 times. I hear that breed of dog is very snotty.
I had bad dreams about "Pet Cemetery," and the whole concept is a little too creepy for me. I wonder if they'll all barf and crap in the same place on the carpet---I mean, they are the same dog.



Worlds oldest joke traced back to 1900 BC:
Guess what it is---drum roll---a fart joke!! Who says poop humor isn't timeless? In fact...there are a multitude of web-sites dedicated just to pictures of poop. mrpoop.com. Yup..A random Google search took me straight there. I lasted 13 seconds on the site, as the steam rising off my monitor was making my eyes water.
I know that my browser has "favorites" or "bookmarks"...but I'd really like to add "never go there again links." Mrpoop would be first in line. (the funny thing, is that his traffic is probably 100X mine...and he hasn't updated the site since 2006)

Olsen seeks immunity in Ledger probe:
When asked by her publicist for a statement, Mary-Kate Olsen said "I really need that immunity...I need my fix right now." When it was explained to her that she was probably thinking of immunization, and that these shots don't generally produce a high, Olsen stated "Are you sure?? I heard that MMR shot, really gets you flying."



Video game helps young cancer patients take meds:
This "scientific" survey found that when kids played a game called "Re-mission" they were 16% more likely to take their cancer meds. Re-mission is a game about a robot who enters a cancerous body and kills all the cancer cells while the robot deals with the side effects of chemotherapy.
It was also found that when kids played a game called "topless women," they were 86% more likely to take 4 showers a day with the door locked.
Duh!! A video game about a cancer patient...which helps a cancer patient to remember to take his cancer medication.......16%.....and they get paid for this....

Favre leaves Lambeau, maybe Packers:
This story has become a sports talk radio wet dream. Whenever I see this on ESPN or hear it on the radio, I instantly become sleepier than sitting through a Dave Matthews concert....like my brain receptors have Favre overload.




Black reporter booted from McCain rally:
Don't worry...this story has no mention on if the reporter wanted to sit in the FRONT of the "Straight talk express."

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Blissful 12 minutes to Hell


I have an unhealthy relationship with my GPS. He thinks he’s pretty smart…if I turn the wrong way, he lets me know. If I go slower than he expects me to, he’ll update the time of arrival.
But for all his helpfulness, I feel a sort of “competition” with him. I know he feels the same way. I can tell he secretly wants me to take a wrong turn so that he can show just how fast he can calculate an alternative route. And the biggest slap in the face is when he throws down a “make a u-turn now.” Like I’m such a dumb-ass that the only option to get back on track is to come back the way I came.

Every day when I pull out of my driveway, he tells me that it will take 13 minutes to get to work.

And then it begins…My inner Bobby Rahal rears its ugly head.

I don’t fully stop at intersections. I exceed the speed limit in unhealthy doses. I weave through traffic, all in the hopes that I can prove him wrong and do the drive in 12 minutes. If I get stuck at a light, or behind a blue-hair or 1979 Datsun, the blood pressure begins to rise…but not because I’m going to be late, or that I’m in a hurry…it’s because “he’ll” be right. In fact, if I don’t “win,” I feel a little slighted and the day is off to a craptacular start.

But there are the days that I pull into the lot…and look down at “him” and he wears the face of defeat. He sheepishly shows my travel time as 12 minutes. I know he wishes he could show seconds…and then try to justify that 12 minutes and 54 seconds is actually closer to 13 minutes than 12. Take a seat my Garmin buddy…you’ve just been schooled by a chubby man in a Mazda Protege.

You know…perhaps the fact that I refer to “it” as an actual person may be insightful in future therapy sessions.

And if the stress from my race with my GPS is not enough, the OCD-based problems with radio stations on my drive just exacerbate the problem.

I leave for work roughly the same time every day. The instant I get in the car, I flip it to “Bob and Tom” for about 5 minutes until they go to commercial. I then flip to AM and listen to the last 3 minute segment on “Mike and Mike” on ESPN radio. The instant they sign off, I flip over to the FOX AM station for the morning news. The news is over just about the time I pull into my work parking lot.
This is EXACTLY how the stations work in the morning, and if for some reason they decide to alter their programming for a day and I have to listen to commercials, I get bent.

Listen to music you say?? My brain is not ready for audio stimulus of these proportions at that time of the morning. For me, the drive is therapeutic…I need the same thing every morning, and know what to expect.

Get satellite radio?? I’ve thought long and hard about this, but can’t seem to pull the trigger on a monthly payment while only in the car for 25 minutes a day. You can call me cheap…because I am.

Find new stations to listen to?? I’ve tried. The only thing left is country music morning shows. These guys consider “Git r done” a phrase impossible to overuse. NPR is too “fuzzy” in my neck of the woods.

If my local radio stations decide to switch programming or if the shows don’t coincide with the times like they have in the past, I’m not even sure what I’ll do.

And then there is the slight chance that if I do 90 MPH to beat my GPS, I’ll get to work before the news can finish. If my automobile electronics cause this apocalyptic event to occur, I’m walking.

Monday, August 4, 2008

The anti-Ken Jennings

I'm generally against posting funny videos received in an e-mail as 85% of the Internet has generally viewed it before I have.

But this guy is amazing. I thought it was fake, but snopes.com hasn't said much about it yet. I can't even imagine how many 80 year old women dropped their dentures as they watched this and got upset at him missing every puzzle. Either that, or "Depends" sales spiked on this night.



Dumbest Guy Ever on Wheel of Fortune - Watch more free videos

Saturday, August 2, 2008

Obama V McCain--I need a nap.

In a newly formed direction to gain energy independence from foreign oil, Obama has proudly proclaimed his new policy:

"The time has come, " Obama states, "for Universal oil changes. There are more than 45 million Americans not receiving oil changes at this time. Under my plan, every American would receive oil changes at a regular interval as described by the manufacturer of the vehicle."
"Whether it be Jiffy-lube, Express-lube, or another oil service station, you will have the portability and choice of where to go."
"Furthermore, every American will have guaranteed eligibility for this service. No one will be turned away for a pre-existing mechanical condition."
"Subsidies will be paid for those that cannot afford the "Jiffy-lube signature service" or those who use synthetic oils. In addition, I will ensure that the free popcorn in the waiting area is always regularly stocked."

And in the same stump speech, Obama decried the future windfall profits of "air-machine" manufacturers:
"It is common knowledge, that to reduce our dependency on foreign oil, we need to inflate our tires to correct pressure. And as you know, most air-machines at the local gas stations charge 50 cents to fill your tires."
"I'll make air-machine companies pay a tax on their windfall profits, and we'll use the money to help families buy hand pumps with which they can use for free. In addition, basketballs, kick-balls, and volleyballs can also be inflated with these pumps."

When asked about these developments, John McCain flip-flopped on his original decision to brush his teeth for the next week. "I like em yellow!"

Friday, August 1, 2008

Barely passed in the past

I have a 4-year degree from a University. It only took me 6 years. Why? Well, the first year of college is sort of a blur...and my grades definitely reflected this.
I had just recently turned 18 years old and graduated from High School. I took a summer job in Alaska gutting fish 16 hours a day. I came home and shortly moved away to school. It was my first time living out of the house, and became a truly eye-opening experience.
Perhaps you can learn from my mistakes...or capitalize on them. Let's review some highlights from freshman year 1993-94.

-NEVER schedule a 7:30 AM class. I don’t care who you are….you will not attend very often. In fact, you may actually fail chemistry because you will make it to class roughly 15% of the time. And guess what?? Nobody cares if you don't show up! I quickly learned that the normal “bed-time” in the dorms was roughly 2:30 AM. You had better have a padlock to keep people out of your room if you intend to retire early.

-If you room-mate tells you that a girl is coming over, and that you must leave….don’t go back for at least 12 hours. Odds are, that you will find naked people on your bed...on your pillow…listening to Disney’s Aladdin soundtrack, doing obscene things.

-“Tequila days” does not mean that it will be the best football game of the year, or that the frat houses will be rocking. It really means that you’ll be home by 4:30 PM, taking off your room-mates shoes, and tucking him into bed while trying to wipe the puke from his hair that got on your pants. Oh yes...he had lucky charms for breakfast.

-Don’t go to a Halloween party dressed as an old woman. You will not meet a single girl who wants to grind with their Grandma.

-Do not touch your dorm-mate’s tarot cards. They are not to be used for “card-towers,” and will cause him to cast a “spell” on you. Yes….I have seen a grown man try to cast a spell on another man. Shoot me an e-mail if you want the recipe.

-Pick up a seepa, and learn to play Hackey. You will do this roughly 4 hours every day.

-When your buddies dare you to run 300 yards in only ski goggles, a scarf, and tennis shoes in front of the dorms…turn it down. They won’t pay up.

-Don’t ever leave any beverage unattended…when you return, there will be chewing tobacco spit inside roughly 58% of the time.

-When playing card games, don’t ever have real money. Bring small bits of paper and write IOU’s on them…as you lose money, you only lose IOU’s. Odds are, that they will lose them, or one day when they are hard up for cash, they’ll take a taco bell lunch in place of the 20 dollar IOU.

-If the people below are you immediate "dorm-mates"--move out immediately. Things will not end well:
---30 year old who claims to own "the largest collection of porn west of the Mississippi." (this was before PC porn.
---A religious zealot
---A Sigma Nu who rarely spent time sober.
---An 8th year senior who used the closet both morning and night to have a "chronic" uplift.
---A foreigner who stews small rodents for dinner.

-Make friends with your football and basketball dorm-mates. All the good looking girls hang out there. Not that this will help you. (or me)

-Go to every concert, dance, activity, sporting event, etc. You will never have the chance to go back and do this again…unless you are on the 6-year plan like I was.

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