They are. And they do.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Jugo de pollo

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I’ve got that niche locked.

I love food. And I love cooking. But I especially love cooking food.

I want to write a cookbook and call it “Chicken Soup for the Stomach.”

I haven’t made lamb stew in a while. I should get on that. The last time I made it, my friend questioned the morality of me doing so, being Scottish and all. “You wouldn’t eat your dog, would you?” he asked. “No, but I would eat my girlfriend.”

I saw an old lady at the casino really going to town on the Playboy slot.

You sick fuck.

Another old lady at work informed me that she was “ordering for two.” Hey, if all your what-have-you still works, more power to you.

Sometimes, overhearing conversation snippets can make me sad. Like when I walked by, and the lady said, “...wrecks the dog.” Poor thing.

My dixie wrecked.

It’s like we’re in 7th grade again.

I have a very Pavlovian reaction to receiving text messages.

The church down the street has a new slogan on their sign:
“Everyone ought 2 go 2 church 2 get away from himself.”
I’ll provide 3 objections to this, because Christians like that number:
  1. First and most obvious is the gratuitous use of the number 2 2 mean ( See? It’s annoying, right?) the preposition, “to.” What the fuck is going on here? Is Jesus sending us a text message? I actually did kinda get a text message from Jesus once. You know how sometimes you forget to lock the keypad on your phone and you end up butt-dialing your ex girlfriend’s mother while making out with your current girlfriend on her dad’s bed when he’s working late and she has the house to herself? It was like that, only I was at work, and instead of dialing someone, my ass hit the exact sequence of keys to purchase a screen saver of Jesus. Now, I understand you’re working with spacial limitations, and the last thing I would expect of a priest is to magically make an abundance of something, but in using the number, you’ve only saved three spaces. And you’re teaching the kids bad grammar.
  2. Defaulting to a male pronoun in reference to everyone is sexist. Now, there’s nothing wrong with being sexy. And I’m a dude, so I really don’t mind. But I can see how some might be offended. And you don’t want to piss off half of the population. Ask the Republican party.
  3. I realize I didn’t type it as such, but the sign is in all caps, I guess because god is loud. The issue here is that traditionally the church uses “Him” to denote god. Isn’t going to church to get away from Himself contradictory? Maybe even blasphemous?

Last week, their slogan was: “Idle gossip keeps some very occupied.”
That’s going on 2,000 years, right?

The anchor on News 10 said, “...and if you don’t watch News 10, you can get updates on your cellphone.”

If you can’t find my blog, be patient. My next post will tell you where it is.

I’m curious as to the necessity of tassels.

Remember Mrs. Goldfarb’s head twitch? I kept track during class yesterday: 177 times. And that wasn’t even for the full class period. I left 15 minutes early.

I just tutored 3 people for their writing on 3 subjects: why consumerism and overspending are good, why church and state should not be separate, and why gays should not be allowed to marry. This is when Gordon loses hope in humanity.

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I really wanted to throttle each of the little fuckers, but it was my responsibility to help them improve their papers. This is where Gordon feels conflicted.

I’m in the situation in which my day job requires a (shitty) day job. I’ve stopped asking questions or making suggestions at this job. First of all, I’ve been told I’d be fired if I did so. Second, well, stuff like this:
  1. It’s in my job description to ask questions and make suggestions.
  2. The company’s framed “Commitment Statement” leans against the wall amongst discarded rubber bands and behind water hoses in a dirty corner.
  3. A list of phone numbers with the title "In Case of Phone Numbers." Finally. I know what to consult should I ever encounter phone numbers: A list of phone numbers.
  4. That’s really a weak example. A shit ton of other semantical, grammatical and spelling errors abound, which is ironic, considering much of it comes from native English speakers and not the Swiss-born owner.
  5. I’m not going to give out any sensitive information, or even list things that people eating there should really know about. But I could. I’ll just leave it at that.

You’d lose all hope in humanity too, if you were regularly asked questions like:
  • “What kind of fruit is in the strawberry cake?”
  • (Staring at the appropriately-labeled lunch menu in his hands) “Where’s your lunch menu?”
  • (After walking past the window with our hours posted, looking in to see an empty building, pulling then pushing and then banging on the locked door until someone opens it)
“You guys open?”
“No. We closed at 2.”
“Can I still get a cake?”
“No. We’re closed. We’ll open tomorrow at 6.”
“When do you close?”
“2 o’clock.”
“Oh. I just need to get a cake.”
“I’m sorry. We’re closed.”
“Ok. I’m just getting a cake.”
“I’m sorry. We closed an hour ago. There aren’t any more registers.”
“Acchhh! Unbelievable! This is really sub-par service. Who is your supervisor? And your name? I know (Mr. (his first name), his ex wife’s name, etc.)! I’m going to get you fired.”
And then that person actually gets fired.

Situations like those are when money trumps natural selection.

Now that I think about it, I’m the one who is out of place. The management fits the clientele perfectly.

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I’m astounded at how often people complain about things they don’t have to. I heard one lady who was honestly irritated with other people’s accents: “‘Kaahfee?’ Why do people say ‘Kaahfee?’ That’s not how you say it. It’s ‘Couuahfee.’”

If I wasn’t working, I’d have totally represented for Chicago with something like this:


For a few weeks now, there have been signs all over campus that say “Protest at the capital. March 16th. www.iwillmarch.com.” None of the signs (nor the web address) hint at what exactly will be protested against. I’m bringing this up now, after the fact, in an effort to avoid aiding their stupidity. Is this just a protest for angry people? If you want to bitch about nothing in particular, go to the capitol on March 16th at any time and scream to your heart’s content. Maybe this was all an act of retaliation by some dude who works at the capitol and is tired of people showing up en masse at his place of business and yelling out bad rhymes while he tries to type a memo. That’s what I’d do. Find some day in which the capitol is closed, and then get everyone to march when it won’t disturb me and won’t help their cause in any way. Or maybe they like protests, but wish they could be a bit more interesting. If you’re general enough with the advertisements, you can get the NRA and the gun control people to show up together. Then you just have to watch the fireworks.

I want to see www.iwillnotmarch.com, a website for those with a deep devotion to apathy.

I don’t have Photoshop, so maybe you can help me out. All of the women in those omnipresent dating site ads are oddly-shaped. Is there like a red eye remover tool for making their boobs poke out?

Several times this week, I’ve been talking to a woman and I’ve wanted to say, “Excuse me. Um. Sorry. But you just. There’s. You have a little something. It’s right there. You. DON’T BLINK! Just. Careful. Really close. Yeah. Around there, kinda.” And it turns out to be a shit ton of mascara. I don’t care so much that it’s not sexy. I’m just trying to save you from painting yourself into ocular surgery.

I try not to be superficial, but the following are deal breakers for me:
  • If your purse costs more than all of the clothes on me at any particular moment
  • If you can recite the cheers from “Bring it On”
  • If you are in no way related to royalty, and yet you are a “princess”
  • If your nails, boobs or any other non-vital body parts are not your own. Listen to Mix-A-Lot. Silicone parts are made for toys.
  • If you really are listening to that new Nickelback album

Yeah, I don’t see myself finding someone for a long time.

Found someone: We were made for each other.

I wonder if she'll blow a fuse on the first date.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen the movie, but doesn’t Slumdog Millionaire = Sean Kingston?

All “Lil” rappers should be banned from using the term “shorty.” I’m just looking for some consistency.

“Lil Wayne” sounds like Mike Meyers went schizo.

That was for all you kids who remember the ‘90s.

Did you notice how the new Volvos look like Pacers?
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It’s an accurate ad. Garth did bang Kim Basinger.

Car companies need to re-institute the station wagon. You assholes with crossover SUVs are just masturbating.

I’m not the kind of dick who would spend a lot of money on something like custom taillights. But if I was, they would totally look like this:
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The weather is getting nicer. Soon I’m going to need one of these:
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I just acquired a Casiotone 201.
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It’s the first Casiotone ever made. The case is wood. And the keys are ivory-colored plastic.

So, I guess I’ll be needing one of these instead:
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Being an English scholar, I always try to do my part to advance the language:
Copy (adj) - having the properties of a law enforcement officer.
“Shit. Do those headlights look copy?”

I’ve never liked the phrase “taking a shit.” It’s misleading. You go to the restroom to leave a shit behind. If you tell me, “I’m going to the restroom to take a shit,” I’ll tell you, “Don’t bring it back here.” Because that shit’s gross. And I don’t want to look at it while I’m eating a hamburger. There must be a better term.

Like “deduce.”

It’s accurate. It uses the number system, so that pleases the scientists. And it also works well in conjunction with sitting on the “think tank.”

Motion carried. Or, should I say, “peristalsis.”

Some laxatives sell themselves on the claim that they don’t contain any harsh stimulants. I’d like to carry it further and sell a combined laxative/tranquilizer: Chillax

The names just keep on coming in:
  • Mr. Deepenbrock. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
  • This was written on a cake: Happy Birthday, My Sweet Paniz. There’s a man who loves himself. Long time. But probably not as much as
  • Dick Self.

My right boob will not stop moving. Is that serious?

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Sexy.

Doug would like this one:
I got a captcha that said, “Originally Mr.” That was on Facebook, where they use real words. Some, like Ticketmaster, just randomly throw together letters and numbers. And still, I managed to get this while buying Incubus tickets:
mexican

I’ll willingly lose a bit of street cred by admitting that I like The Used. But what the crap are they doing at SXSW?

That’s for bands like this:


And maybe even this:


I wonder if Tricky will cover Run DMC.

Hard times?
There is a direct correlation between conservatism and porn sales. Seriously. More porn is sold in the country when there is a Republican president. And regardless of who is in the white house, conservative states consume more porn per capita than liberal states, number one being Utah, with 5.4 subscriptions to porn services per household.

That’s what happens when you suppress natural human desires. Remember Ted Haggard? He’s now “cured” and selling insurance, so obviously he’s trustworthy now.

Insurance? Have you no faith?

“There was a new study by the Vatican, and by God, why don’t they mind their own business?”
I love you, David Letterman. You have what Leno never had: testicles.

“Have you taken a look at these people? Doesn’t it strike you odd that most of the people who are against abortion are people you wouldn’t want to fuck in the first place?”
I would so have George Carlin’s babies.

I really don’t hate the religious. They can be some of the nicest people. But they can also do some stupid shit sometimes.

That being said, what does the Pope say after taking a dump?
“Who do I have to persecute to get some TP up in this bitch?”

Those of you who said, “Holy shit!” are incorrect. He’d never say that.

I know this might piss off a lot of people, but Battlestar Galactica was on the cover of Soap Opera Weekly. I’m just reporting the truth.

For those who don’t watch it, it’s basically this show where a bunch of wookees run around and stuff happens.

You people may not realize it, but every once in a while, you say something that changes my world. Like referring to someone as “my significant lover.” I like that.

Friday, March 13, 2009

The Scottish Space Program



























































































MacGregor.

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Hello.

My name is Bono and this is my blog. I sincerely apologize if it sucks ass.

Among other things, I am a tutor. I never used to claim that. Usually I’d blame it on the dog.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Tutoring at the CSUS Writing Center is kinda like working at the Center for Kids Who Can’t Write Good and Want to Learn to do Other Stuff Good Too.

In the span of three sentences, I found two more grammatical errors in my book on tutoring writing. This may be one of those cases in which the professor has you read a crap book because their friend wrote it.

I have one in another class, and surprise, it’s the van-dweller I mentioned last time. She also has a head twitch that is really starting to bother me. She looks like the chicken who got into the farmer’s meth. On the first day of class, I asked if I could call her “Mrs. Goldfarb.” She didn't get it.

If that's not enough, she says things like, “compositiony,” “more strongly” and “it’s more easier.”

Girls go to Jupiter to get more stupider.
Boys go to Mars to get more candy bars.

I love eating sandwiches. If that didn’t make you chuckle just a little, it’s best you stop reading right now.

There has been an influx of funny names at work lately, and I will disperse them throughout this blog. The first name is: Mi Hoang.

Sometimes when I’m not sick but just a little congested, I open my jaw and it sounds like owls having sex in my ear.

Stop me if I ever want to go to therapy.

Ok. Going out to the club with a bunch of women. Need to eat first. I know. I’ll make pizza and garlic fries. And then I'll wonder why I'm single.

I was out having drinks the other night and this girl we were with pointed out someone and said, "That guy isn't a douchebag. He's the whole box. He's a douchebox."

New word.

I met a girl who looks like Jared Leto.

Funny name #2: Ben Assman.

I have determined that manliness = covering up your jigglybits but at the same time wagging them around for all to see.

"Wait. You mean. Really. Jigglybits are. Ugh."
Cut the act. You're a sick fuck too. Embrace it.

My day job sucks, but it has its perks. Today, I brought an old lady her food, and she said in delightful satisfaction, “My! You came quickly.”

See.

Do they use alcohol to sterilize the mouthpiece on a breathalyzer in between uses?

I saw a bumper sticker that said “In memory of (dead guy). We’ll see you soon.” Well, that’s a bit pessimistic.

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Somewhere Mitch Hedberg is smiling.

I think Carrot Top is grossly misunderstood. Carrot tops are green.

I’m not a fan of “light” foods. If something is light, I’d like to be able to read by it.

I realize that what I’m asking for is iridescent yogurt, and that’s probably not a good thing.

Not to get all Platonic on you, but what would happen if Bono discovered the world is not orange?

This is the real mascot for a school district in Arkansas:
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The town is Weiner, AK. Why they chose the cardinal over the woodpecker is beyond me. And no, it’s not a private school district. It’s public.

Funny Roman name: Publius.

I have a box. At work. For close to a year now, the only thing in it has been a book of matches.
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That’s appropriate, I think.

I blow dry my hair, but I don’t own a blow drier.

Before I had the beard, I looked like Robert Smith when I woke up. Now I’m Joaquin Phoenix.

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Take that, Nelly.

It’s no surprise that the mall caters to those who are so insecure that they become fashion whores. I recently saw a literal example of this. And if the security guards didn’t already take to following around the one bearded man in the place wearing a leather jacket and walking quickly by himself, I would’ve snapped a nice picture of the manikin bending over with its ass out in a pose somewhere in between that of a cat and my ex girlfriend.

And manikins always have that look on their face like you just slipped it in their ass.

When I went to make my purchase, the cashier didn’t take my money and hand me my receipt. There were other things on her agenda:
  1. She asked if I wanted to buy insurance for my small kitchen appliance for a fifth of the cost of the small kitchen appliance.
  2. She informed me of a survey I could take online. Like people do that shit for fun.
  3. She asked for my email address, and not because I looked like Joaquin Phoenix. It was so the store could send me coupons and promotional info. This is happening more and more frequently in places it shouldn’t, like Jack in the Box. When it does, I do a quick assessment of the cashier:
  • If she’s an old lady, I smile and say “no, thanks.”
  • If she’s a teenager, I politely accept and spell out “flesheatingbacteria@yourmom.com.”
  • For all other women and dudes, I politely accept and spell out “sexwithfish@yahoo.com.”
In those situations, I don’t bother telling them I brought my own bag.

I also work for a literary agent. I am the environmentally-conscious guy whose job is to help with the creation and selling of bound volumes of paper.

Books can be the perfect gifts. Except for the “Complete Idiots Guide to______.”

I’m kinda like an idiot savant, only not a savant.

“Al Gore won a Grammy for best spoken word, and he immediately gave it to George W. Bush. Because that’s what happens when he wins things.”
Ah, Craig.

Why why why are American Idol rumors on the 10:00 news?

Can a ninja write off a fake tan as a business expense? I need to do my taxes.

I just got in the mail a 67 cent refund check from a storage unit I rented 4 years ago from Samuel L. Jackson.
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Seriously.
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His middle initial really is L. You can call and ask him. I wouldn't lie to you.

I am a furry bastard. I gave my jigglybits a hi-top fade.

Funny name #3: Harry Arriola. That one turned up on a myspace friend’s friend’s “people you may know.”

I’m compulsively non-compulsive. For example: I recently noticed that when I wash my face, I always wash the right side of my nose first. It’s a good system that has worked for me for years, but I still changed it at the very next opportunity.

It should be no surprise that I have yet to stay in a relationship long enough to buy towels. So when I accidentally left my ‘02 Target Bath Towel on the hook at my friends’ place in San Francisco, I had to go out and get a replacement. Anyway, the new model is hella tricked out with all sorts of absorptive fibers and soft fluffy comfortableness. And it goes with the theme of my lily-pad-hand-painted-cartoon-bugs-and-frogs-cubbies-on-the-walls-not-intended-for-a-twenty-six-year-old-straight-man bathroom decor.

I want a funfetti cake at my funeral.

If you don’t count “balls,” “scroats,” or any such references to that portion of the male jigglybits, my current favorite swear word usually consists of a compound word that provides a vivid image of something specific. For example: as of about five minutes ago, my current word of choice is: Bitchfist.

For those interested, the previous word was Caknab. This was inspired mostly by a bout of spastic dyslexia and advertisements for the NAK fraternity.

I’m not really certain it’s dyslexia, but it sure is fun. Here are some other things I've read:
  • Child Action Center = Child Auction Center
  • Astrobody = Astrobooty
Freud just did this in his grave:


I read “iPod!” and thought some Spanish speaker was very excited about a pod.

iHappy Birthday, Mia!

I don’t know about you, but I can do without Uggs and dudes in Twilight shirts.

When I first saw a faux hawk, it was on Russel Crowe. I have not watched any of his movies since then.

That is purely out of coincidence and him making a bunch of crap movies. I really don’t care how he denies getting old.

Apparently, Wesley Snipes is now doing ads for the Total Gym. If you didn’t know that, don’t care about his financial situation, nor do you know the names of any of Angelina Jolie’s kids, I love you.

Funny name #4: Mahboob.

If you’re a dude, chances are you’ve heard about the woman who recently broke the world’s record for largest jawbreakers with her purchase of a shiny new pair of 38KKKs. You know my stance on fake flapjacks, so I won’t get into that. But KKKs? That’s offensive. Those boobs are anti-Semitic. That puzzles me more than offends me. Usually they’re very receptive to Semitism.

Funny name #5: Mrs. Chisolm. Ladies, that’s when you don’t take his last name.

On page 139 of Anne Lamott’s book on writing, she uses the word, “Googe.” I want your feedback here. What exactly does that word mean? Is it like Chisolm?

More often than you’d think, some nutjob sends us their self-published book, perplexed at why it hasn’t made them a millionaire, and asks us to kindly make them so by selling them to a large house. This is one such case:
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You are as surprised as I was to learn that this book was a near verbatim ripoff of Dracula and not in fact porn (though with the exception of these two, vampires are hot as hell).

I hate it when they do that for a number of reasons:
  1. They are idiots and don’t follow our submission guidelines.
  2. They often include those bigass manilla folders with several dollars worth of postage on them (instead of a much cheaper email) so that when I’m done determining that their work is shite (usually in the time it takes to make one), I can kindly mail it back to them so they can use the same book over and over to harass other agencies. It’s an environmentally sound strategy, except for the paper envelopes used and the gasoline-burning transportation that results in no net travel. And they never buy the self-adhesive envelopes. I always do because although I’m a big fan of licking random objects that have been fingered by god knows who, I realize that not everyone is, and I respect that.
My brother is an architectural draftsman. I could never do that because:
  • I can’t draw. Not even with rulers. If I could, I would probably throw my life away making a comic strip.
  • It requires the ability to say “flying buttresses” with a straight face.
Funny name #6: BJ Hoff. Hand to god. And he writes Christian novels. Now, that’s the kind of overt fusion of sex and religion that has been denied for way too long.

Take a Catholic mass for example: You kneel down and close your eyes while a man with a staff wearing a dress splashes water on you. I know of several people who are quick to say “Yes, please” to that, and ironically, the church wants to exclude them.

“Are you gay?” should be a hopeful question from someone looking for love. Where did we go wrong with that?

I have the texting program where it predicts the word you’re trying to type. If you type in “God” and then hit the “next” button, it gives you “Hoe.” If God = Hoe, then wouldn’t Priest = Pimp?

Look at the uniform:
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I can see it.

I’m going to hell, but at least there’ll be bitches.
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A bajingo ate my baby.

I heard the best joke ever:
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Chicken. Joke’s over.”

Except for Jess and Vaughan. Then the joke is just starting. I hope it’s long and satisfying. Your marriage, too.


In all seriousness, that may be my favorite song.

Friday, March 6, 2009

I'm selling myself on the Information Superstreetcorner.

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I love it when they scream, "A, Colon, Backslash, Enter, Insert!"

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