You haven't seen crabby...

When someone says to me ‘wow, you are crabby today’, I want to punch them in the foot. Yes, the foot. Hitting in the face just seems way too personal and potentially dangerous (like getting punched back). But a solid drop down punch in the foot is really more annoying than anything else. If done correctly it might induce momentary limping or over exaggerated cussing on the painfulness of the blow. Most recipients tend to hop around a little usually with the response ‘what the fuck was that all about’? ‘Well now who is being the crabby one? Get over it. Damn you are annoying, stop complaining’.


This course of action usually has two outcomes.
1. I am no longer crabby.
2. The person learns their lesson about accusing me of inhospitable mood swings that have absolutely nothing to do with them.
Either way I win really

This is all I can do for you today.

For some reason I have nothing to say, but that will not stop me from bringing pleasure to the world via my fantastical musings on the obscure and obscene. In this iteration of my semi weekly, never daily diatribe I would like to roll out a new feature of equally irrational…”Equally Irrational’s list of the irrational”.
1. I saw an article today that Sony will no longer be selling the cassette walkman. News flash, that happened a long time ago.
2. Polygamy is making a comeback. Seems like a really bad idea, but any man that wants to share a house with three women going through…’the cycle’ at the same time is a braver man than me.
3. I had someone ask me if twitter was like email. My response was, ‘as much as the Thomas Jefferson’s union expansion plan was like Ben Franklin’s.’ I had no idea what that ment but it kept them from asking me anymore questions.
4. You know when people talk about the landing on the moon, JFK getting shot, or 9/11 they always recall where they were when it happened. But for some reason no one remembers where they were when they were conceived. A simple five minute conversation could solve this problem, and make my inquiries far less creepy. Call your parents.
5. My dog is entertained by my farts.
6. I hate people that refer to their own blog in their blog.

Adulthood is stupid.

The impetus for this post is a recent visit I had at the doctor’s office.  Before you get all excited, I said impetus not impotence, give me a little credit.  The visit and corresponding behavior left a lot to be desired.  At first I was perplexed by my overwhelming emotional response, but upon breaking down of a little tape have discovered a few key moments that were crucial to my hysteria.  First, and perhaps the most glaring fact, I made a doctor’s appointment when nothing was wrong with me.  I was not sick, I had no injured appendages, or any looming trips to a third world country.  I just had this feeling that I should go for a check up to make sure everything was in the right place.

While at the appointment the doctor (female I might add) informed me that there would be some ‘genital examination’ at the end of the session.  A flash back to a physical of the same nature my freshman year of college was followed by beer drinking and exaggerated stories of getting to third base with my hot doctor.  Now my flash forward was a Lance Armstrong like surgery without all the cool bike riding stuff and money afterwards.  The stripper in the nurse’s outfit will never have the same appeal.

After the downstairs examine I saw the doctor turn and reach for a bottle of what I thought to be lubricant, my mind has never reacted so quickly…”no need to examine anymore doc, I won’t be thirty until next year”.  To which she informed me she was just reaching for the hand sanitizer and my bum was safe for another day.

Lastly was the result of the blood work up…I have slightly high cholesterol.  The response to anyone that knows me well, ‘you probably need to cut down on the cheese intake’.

So a recap, make a doctor’s appointment for no reason.  Get felt up by a female unsolicited and my wife was happier about it than I was.  I suddenly cannot eat cheese by the fistfuls.  And every time I see a girl dressed up as a sluty nurse this Halloween I am sure my ass will pucker up.  I hate adulthood.

I am not a monster, it’s just that you are an idiot and I cannot help but tell the truth.

I have proof that I am not a total asshole. It came in a moment today when I reached out to a fellow man for the betterment of the world, and frankly all of mankind. For my loyal readers it may seem hard to believe that I could be so caring, so compassionate, so selfless, but the following story may just bring you to an emotional crescendo.

I was on my way home from work around 6:30 when I noticed a driver next to me. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary, but I did notice that the driver was driving a little erratic. It was then that I noticed that the car didn’t have their lights on; at that point I knew I had to step in. I pulled up to the driver and gave a little horn honk till she looked over and then gave the international sign for rolling down the window (even though no one has manual windows). I wonder if our kids will understand that the circular motion of a fist means roll down your window. Anyway. The drive rolled her window down and I yelled ‘your lights aren’t on”! “Oh my gosh, thank you so much, you are so nice!”

She then started to roll her window up and flick on her lights. I again gave her the roll your window down sign. “Yes, is there something else?” “Yea, one more thing, you are a shitty driver and texting while you are driving is not helping your cause. Next time I see your dumbass on the road without your lights on and texting while driving I won’t sweet talk you at a stop light. Instead I will follow you home and tell all the restaurants in your neighborhood to stop delivery to your house and slash your tires so you have to walk a few places. Have a great night.”

The important part of this story to remember is that I told her that her lights were off. American hero!

News flash: I am dumb, so are you.

My gum has layers. Let me repeat that. The gum that I am going to unwrap and look at for two seconds before putting into my mouth and chew into a beige abstract shape only to be trashed minutes later…has layers. A feature of which seems so important that gum manufacturers have spent millions of dollars developing and advertising as if to entice me to buy their products based purely on aesthetics rather than function. I have some bad news for them…ITS FREAKING GUM! I couldn’t care less what it bloody looks like. I do not have a shelf in the front hallway of my house dedicated to cool looking gum, nor do I unwrap my gum and run around my office yelling ‘holy shit, this is the coolest looking gum I have ever seen! I need to run back to the store to get more before they run out.”
Imagine sitting on the train about to put a piece of gum in your mouth when the trendy hipster sitting across from you pulls out is iphone and says ‘dude, hold on a second. Let me take a picture of your gum to post on my facebook page, tweet about, write a blog entry and possible post the picture on flickr.’ No one freaking cares.
I have a suggestion for you to get my attention with a piece of gum. Show me a picture of two hot blondes in bikinis and say ‘double your pleasure, double your fun’. Its old school bitches, and it works.
Next week I will discuss gum that ‘bursts in my mouth’. Guess how I feel about that?

I'm back!

Well hello there, it has been too long. I will not apologize, nor bore you with the life altering events that have drawn me away from grammatically pleasuring you over the past month. What I will say is that I have become vastly more important in specific social circles and at this point might be a shoe in for a write in victory in the Chicago mayoral race. I have become enormously important. Now this may seem unimportant to you, and possibly even annoying that I have so quickly eclipsed you socially and morally, but you will be happy to hear that these changes have not affected my taste for public tongue lashings and witty musings on the socially inept and global corporate failures.

Today I will start with something that pains me deeply, an outright attack on an institution that has feed me, clothed me, and provided me with the opportunity to live for six months as a social outcast and later local hero. I give you Taco Bell.

It takes a lot for me to find faults in an established that has become a global giant in perpetuating Mexican stereotypes and butchering a beautiful culture with a revolving door of menu items that surprising consist of the same 6 ingredients. I over looked their attempts to introduce that fast food world to shrimp as an attempt at dietary diversification, and will eventually forgive the gaff of removing chili from their menu, but their latest attempt to capture and captivate the minds of young food coinsures has left me with an empty feeling.

Margaritas. A giant sign announcing the arrival of this great new product, followed by two lines that left me in a daze..."contains no juice or alcohol". For years I openly ignored the fact that the cheese was processed, the meat low grade and the beans not house 'refried' every morning. I wore the blinders with pride, but to slap me in the face with the crappiness of the product before it even hits my lips is mind numbing. Join me in my two day boycott of Taco Bell that started three days ago and ended yesterday, allowing you and me to now begin enjoying TB again, still.