*The events described here are based on historical facts…except the ones that aren’t*
I was sitting at Costco the other day, pumping some 87 grade octane into my Grand Prix, when I stepped back and took a look at the price. $2.69 a gallon! I couldn’t believe it. Then, I looked towards the sky and had an epiphany. All of this could have easily been avoided if it weren’t for those two dreaded words; Magna Carta.
Allow me to elaborate.
The Magna Carta was signed on June 15th in the year of the Lord 1215. Agreed upon by Patrick the Timid and the Duke of Sandwich (no relation to the Earl of Sandwich), it was essentially an agreement to rid Norway of Erik the Red and his illegitimate son, Leif Erikson (no relation to Leif Garrett). Due to their plundering, and pillaging, the citizens on Norway had had enough and sent the Vikings on their way. As a parting gift, they received 12 drums of heavily cured meat, two yaks and a portable gazebo for all their gaming pleasure.
So, the Vikings took off towards the Great Beyond, which is what Egypt was called in those days. On their way to Egypt, where they had planned a rendezvous with little Freddie Tutankhamen (who would later become King Tut), they got lost. Since there are very few road signs in the open sea, they floated towards the edge of the earth, when fate took over.
Just as they were about to fall off the edge of the world (in those days, the world had an edge and that wasn’t fixed until the Mayans put together all of their resources and curved the earth in 1631), they ran into Christopher Stickupass (who later changed his name to the more politically correct Christopher Columbus). He was looking for Isabel, Queen of the Nile, and as a joke, the Vikings pointed him due south! Little did they know that there was land ripe for the taking that way.
Well, Mr. Stickupass took the Vikings at their word, because he figured if you couldn’t trust Erik the Red, who could you trust? And trust he did. Luckily for him and his weary crew, they made it to shore just over twelve hours later, thanks to their rocket powered engine (which was destroyed in the Great Chicago Fire). When they got there, they immediately started breeding with the natives.
One of the crew members, Hieronymus Jefferson, took up with a native lady named Sheila. And nine months later, the great president, Thomas Jefferson, was sprung from her swollen womb.
Throughout his childhood, TJ (as his friends called Thomas Jefferson) dreamed of creating, and then becoming President, of the United States. As luck would have it, his magic 8 ball was correct and he did become President.
While President, TJ forced his white slaves Lewis and Clark to go all the way to the west coast to fetch a pail of water. While waiting for them, TJ grew bored and assumed they had died, so he decided to purchase Louisiana.
What TJ didn’t know is that Lewis and Clark had not died! Not only had they not died, they also had found gold in the west! This led to the Gold Rush of 1849, and the creation of California as a state.
Since so many people were moving to California, the city of Hollywood decided to move there too. The film industry had hit a snag in Hoboken, Ohio and it too was looking for greener pastures. The gold in California seemed just the place to find it.
And find it, it did! Through the years, Hollywood started producing hit movies and actors, including Ronald Reagan. Little Ronnie Reagan decided to parlay his movie stardom into the Presidency of the United States. As his running partner, he chose George H.W. Bush. This would prove to be an unwise move for future generations.
While H.W. eventually became President, he and Barbara spawned the great white Devil, known to America as George W. Bush. Since George W. wasn’t qualified for many things, he decided he should be President too. And America agreed.
This angered many foreign terrorists, who decided to hold back oil production to teach America a lesson. And a lesson we have learned. For, if any of these events had not happened, we would have elected John Kerry, gas would only be a nickel a gallon, Friends would still be on the air and we’d all have 40 acres of land and a mule.
Damn you Magna Carta. Damn you to hell. It’s all your fault! I want my flippin’ 40 acres of land and a mule, dang it!
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
The Pawnshop
It was finally nine o’clock, so I flipped the sign on my little pawn shop to “Open”. Christ, another Monday already. I couldn’t even recall how long I’d been running this shop, but I really wanted to close it and retire. The whole neighborhood had gone insane. Yesterday, some guy who looked like Scott Baio came in and tried to sell a gold watch. Hell, it might have been Scott Baio for all I knew. Unbelievable.
As I walked back towards the counter, I heard the door open. My back was to whoever it was, so I didn’t know what kind of freak had graced me with his presence. I turned around and, though the man was hideous, I showed no surprise.
“How’s it going buddy. Got some good stuff to pawn today?”
The man stared at me with his one good eye. The other socket was covered by a patch. At least I think it was a patch. He was wearing a Zorro-type mask, so all I could see was blackness in his right eye; kind of like Kenneth Lay’s soul. He also had on some sort of ballerina unitard along with hot pink hiking boots. He was hatless, but his hair formed three horns, like a mini triceratops.
“Sir, I have for you the find of a lifetime! You’ll be telling all your pawn shop union friends about this at your secret meeting beneath Mt. Saint Helens next week. I am about to make you a legend!!”
“Well, that’s great, just great. It’s crazy how you knew about those secret meetings. So, what do you have there?” I asked him.
There are no secret meetings and there is no pawn shop union. After years of agreeing with the customer, nothing surprised me. He could have ripped off his mask and had Paris Hilton engraved into his eye socket and I wouldn’t have batted an eye.
He approached me with a jeweler’s box that an engagement ring would come in. It was closed and he was holding it like he was about to propose to me. I slowly reached under the counter and grabbed my lucky “Freak Baton”.
“How much would you pay for something like this? It’s one of a kind! No one else is going to have anything this special.” He said to me as he opened the box in my face.
My jaw dropped and my hand fell off the baton. I looked at him incredulously. I was finally at a loss for words. “Um…is that plastic?”
“No, this is as real as they come.”
“But, how did you get it? And where did you get it?”
“It’s mine! I just took it out and put it in the box. Pretty nice, eh? You don’t see that shade of blue too often, do you?”
“No, you really don’t. Um, sir, I don’t know how to break it to you. I am really…uh…not in the market for, um, a human eye ball. I just don’t see what I would do with it. Plus, it looks like you didn’t do a great job separating it from the nerve endings.”
His face dropped. “But, then what the hell am I supposed to do with this eye? I take it out to sell it and you can’t use it? Now, I have to wear this patch all over the place and feel like Christopher freakin’ Robin!”
“Christopher Robin didn’t wear a patch. I think you…”
“Shut up!!” He cut me off. “Damn it. So, you have no use for an eye at all? I’ll take a trade. Maybe for that shovel??”
“No, I really don’t need an eye here.”
“Great! That’s the last time I take advice from that bitch Ann Landers!”
“Ann Landers told you to take your eye out and sell it to a pawn shop?”
“Not in so many words, no. She said to keep the house and rent it out as another source of income, but it was the way she said it. I knew what she meant.”
“Um…I don’t know what to do with that.”
“How about you shove it up you ass along with that hamster and block of cheese?” He screamed at me as he stormed out of my store.
I turned towards the back of the store to compose my thoughts, when I heard the door open again. I rolled my eyes and turned around to see the next freak that would brighten my doorstep.
As I walked back towards the counter, I heard the door open. My back was to whoever it was, so I didn’t know what kind of freak had graced me with his presence. I turned around and, though the man was hideous, I showed no surprise.
“How’s it going buddy. Got some good stuff to pawn today?”
The man stared at me with his one good eye. The other socket was covered by a patch. At least I think it was a patch. He was wearing a Zorro-type mask, so all I could see was blackness in his right eye; kind of like Kenneth Lay’s soul. He also had on some sort of ballerina unitard along with hot pink hiking boots. He was hatless, but his hair formed three horns, like a mini triceratops.
“Sir, I have for you the find of a lifetime! You’ll be telling all your pawn shop union friends about this at your secret meeting beneath Mt. Saint Helens next week. I am about to make you a legend!!”
“Well, that’s great, just great. It’s crazy how you knew about those secret meetings. So, what do you have there?” I asked him.
There are no secret meetings and there is no pawn shop union. After years of agreeing with the customer, nothing surprised me. He could have ripped off his mask and had Paris Hilton engraved into his eye socket and I wouldn’t have batted an eye.
He approached me with a jeweler’s box that an engagement ring would come in. It was closed and he was holding it like he was about to propose to me. I slowly reached under the counter and grabbed my lucky “Freak Baton”.
“How much would you pay for something like this? It’s one of a kind! No one else is going to have anything this special.” He said to me as he opened the box in my face.
My jaw dropped and my hand fell off the baton. I looked at him incredulously. I was finally at a loss for words. “Um…is that plastic?”
“No, this is as real as they come.”
“But, how did you get it? And where did you get it?”
“It’s mine! I just took it out and put it in the box. Pretty nice, eh? You don’t see that shade of blue too often, do you?”
“No, you really don’t. Um, sir, I don’t know how to break it to you. I am really…uh…not in the market for, um, a human eye ball. I just don’t see what I would do with it. Plus, it looks like you didn’t do a great job separating it from the nerve endings.”
His face dropped. “But, then what the hell am I supposed to do with this eye? I take it out to sell it and you can’t use it? Now, I have to wear this patch all over the place and feel like Christopher freakin’ Robin!”
“Christopher Robin didn’t wear a patch. I think you…”
“Shut up!!” He cut me off. “Damn it. So, you have no use for an eye at all? I’ll take a trade. Maybe for that shovel??”
“No, I really don’t need an eye here.”
“Great! That’s the last time I take advice from that bitch Ann Landers!”
“Ann Landers told you to take your eye out and sell it to a pawn shop?”
“Not in so many words, no. She said to keep the house and rent it out as another source of income, but it was the way she said it. I knew what she meant.”
“Um…I don’t know what to do with that.”
“How about you shove it up you ass along with that hamster and block of cheese?” He screamed at me as he stormed out of my store.
I turned towards the back of the store to compose my thoughts, when I heard the door open again. I rolled my eyes and turned around to see the next freak that would brighten my doorstep.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Little League World Series Thoughts...
Is there anything lower on the umpiring chain than being the right field foul line ump in the consolation game of the LLWS?
Why are there 12 year olds that are bigger than I am?
Why do I get to know these kids and then get excited to watch them?
The California team has a kid who shaves as often as I do. That's disheartening.
Khalen Pimentol hit 35 homers this year and also was clocked at 82 mph from 46 feet. Ummm...yeah.
The California team is 58-0 this year as I write this. That's incredible. I don't think all my teams combined in my life have won 58 games. But we did have "The Code", so I guess we're even.
Does it make me a bad person because I laugh when the kids strike out?
I'm just going to throw it out there; There's something not right about a Little League coach who doesn't have a son on the team.
Why are there 12 year olds that are bigger than I am?
Why do I get to know these kids and then get excited to watch them?
The California team has a kid who shaves as often as I do. That's disheartening.
Khalen Pimentol hit 35 homers this year and also was clocked at 82 mph from 46 feet. Ummm...yeah.
The California team is 58-0 this year as I write this. That's incredible. I don't think all my teams combined in my life have won 58 games. But we did have "The Code", so I guess we're even.
Does it make me a bad person because I laugh when the kids strike out?
I'm just going to throw it out there; There's something not right about a Little League coach who doesn't have a son on the team.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Breaking News!!
Now, you better be sitting down when you read this, or sitting in a chair like position. So, grab onto your hats, button up your coats and put the A/C on high because this is going to shock and awe you!
Randy Moss has smoked weed!!
Beep, beep, beep, beep. Wait a second. Back the truck up there. Weed? Moss? Are you kidding me? This is unfathomable. I'm in shock. I almost fell right on my liver when I read this. Yep...pretty unbelievable. Bryant Gumbel must have had a mole deep, deep into the Randy Moss congregation. God, he must have had pictures of Randy violating a pineapple to get him to admit such shocking information; on national TV no less!
Man, if this story hadn't worked out, here are some other possible breaking news items for Mr. Gumbel to report on:
~ It's not good for you to brush your teeth with pudding.
~ In the battle of peeing versus 'holding it', peeing will always win.
~ Dennis Haskins can't use the "Hey, I used to be Mr. Belding" line to pick up chicks.
~ The sky is blue.
~ Randy Moss smoked weed. (oops...too late)
Thank you, Mr. Gumbel, for keeping America informed of things that aren't totally obvious and tid-bits of information that even a blind man could see. It's because of people like you that the merry-go-round keeps spinning. I salute you!
Moron.
Randy Moss has smoked weed!!
Beep, beep, beep, beep. Wait a second. Back the truck up there. Weed? Moss? Are you kidding me? This is unfathomable. I'm in shock. I almost fell right on my liver when I read this. Yep...pretty unbelievable. Bryant Gumbel must have had a mole deep, deep into the Randy Moss congregation. God, he must have had pictures of Randy violating a pineapple to get him to admit such shocking information; on national TV no less!
Man, if this story hadn't worked out, here are some other possible breaking news items for Mr. Gumbel to report on:
~ It's not good for you to brush your teeth with pudding.
~ In the battle of peeing versus 'holding it', peeing will always win.
~ Dennis Haskins can't use the "Hey, I used to be Mr. Belding" line to pick up chicks.
~ The sky is blue.
~ Randy Moss smoked weed. (oops...too late)
Thank you, Mr. Gumbel, for keeping America informed of things that aren't totally obvious and tid-bits of information that even a blind man could see. It's because of people like you that the merry-go-round keeps spinning. I salute you!
Moron.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
This is terrible
So, I'm sitting in my room right now and it is excruciatingly hot. I have already swat through both pairs of boxers, my shorts and my Nike t-shirt. I feel like Hambone standing in a frying pan. On a scale of 1 to Comfortable, it's about negative Satan in here. Wondering why?
The morons painting our townhouse have covered up my window with plastic. Now, as if that weren't bad enough, they also covered my A/C with plastic. Why don't they just come in, put a plastic bag over my head and put me out of my misery. They've already taken my soul...they may as well take the earthly remains too.
T-minus 14 days until I move. Thank God! Mom and Dad...here I come!
The morons painting our townhouse have covered up my window with plastic. Now, as if that weren't bad enough, they also covered my A/C with plastic. Why don't they just come in, put a plastic bag over my head and put me out of my misery. They've already taken my soul...they may as well take the earthly remains too.
T-minus 14 days until I move. Thank God! Mom and Dad...here I come!
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Class Act...
I drove through Cannon Falls, Minnesota, which has a population of 3,795. So, it's just a small town, in the middle of nowhere, where they talk about corn, cheese and putting shredded cheese on popcorn. Oh, they also have a strip club called "Class Act".
Whenever I drive by small town strip clubs, I always wonder what kind of ladies they have there. I mean, they have a choice of probably about 50,000 people total. We'll count everyone in a 30 square mile radius. Then, divide that by two, to get rid of the men (seeing as this isn't a he-bitch strip club). So, we're down to 25,000. Then, we need to get it down into "stripping age", which is defined by 18-30 (normally 30 would be past your stripping prime, but we don't have that many ladies here). So, we figure we have somewhere around 4,000 in stripping age. Then, you have to take away the girls that won't take off their clothes for money. So, now we're down to the choices of about 250. Then, we have to take away the girls that are willing to strip, but no one wants to see strip. We are down to about 10 possibilities.
So, I figure there are maybe 10 girls in that area that anyone would want to see strip...and the question is, did Class Act bring them in? Or are there one limbed girls flapping their nubs all over yonder on the stage? If someone has been to a small town strip club, please let me know what goes on there. Thanks.
Whenever I drive by small town strip clubs, I always wonder what kind of ladies they have there. I mean, they have a choice of probably about 50,000 people total. We'll count everyone in a 30 square mile radius. Then, divide that by two, to get rid of the men (seeing as this isn't a he-bitch strip club). So, we're down to 25,000. Then, we need to get it down into "stripping age", which is defined by 18-30 (normally 30 would be past your stripping prime, but we don't have that many ladies here). So, we figure we have somewhere around 4,000 in stripping age. Then, you have to take away the girls that won't take off their clothes for money. So, now we're down to the choices of about 250. Then, we have to take away the girls that are willing to strip, but no one wants to see strip. We are down to about 10 possibilities.
So, I figure there are maybe 10 girls in that area that anyone would want to see strip...and the question is, did Class Act bring them in? Or are there one limbed girls flapping their nubs all over yonder on the stage? If someone has been to a small town strip club, please let me know what goes on there. Thanks.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Apple Juice Now Served?
I drove by a White Castle tonight and in the spot where fast food places normally highlight their specials to entice hnugry patrons to come in, they said "Apple Juice Now Served".
Do you think anyone who is willing to eat at White Castle gives a crap that they're serving apple juice now? Seriously. Do you think Bubba and Bob-Tom are driving down the road and have the following exchange?
Bubba: Hey Bob-Tom, I am starvin'! You wanna stop at the White Castle?
Bob-Tom: Nah, can't stop there. They ain't gots the apple juice.
Bubba: Yep. Dag. If only the Castle would start serving The Juice.
Bob-Tom (staring in the distance): Wait! What the hell does that say? Apple juice now served?!! Hot damn!
Bubba: We're eatin' Sliders tonight.
(Bubba and Bob-Tom do an awkward high five and then Bubba puts his teeth back in)
I can't believe anyone in their right mind would put that in their key ad space. After all the positive vibes that Harold and Kumar put out, they're going to ruin it with apple juice? What's next? A rattle with every value meal? Buy one slider, get a carrot free? Now serving cucumbers? Where does it end?? God, it's like Emilio Estevez is giving the White Castle CEO career advice.
Emilio: That's right. Advertise the apple juice. The people will come.
CEO: Really? Well if you say so. Are you going to stop in?
Emilio: I can't. I'm on my way to film Mighty Ducks 4: The Ducks Don't Die. But the people; they will come.
Morons.
Do you think anyone who is willing to eat at White Castle gives a crap that they're serving apple juice now? Seriously. Do you think Bubba and Bob-Tom are driving down the road and have the following exchange?
Bubba: Hey Bob-Tom, I am starvin'! You wanna stop at the White Castle?
Bob-Tom: Nah, can't stop there. They ain't gots the apple juice.
Bubba: Yep. Dag. If only the Castle would start serving The Juice.
Bob-Tom (staring in the distance): Wait! What the hell does that say? Apple juice now served?!! Hot damn!
Bubba: We're eatin' Sliders tonight.
(Bubba and Bob-Tom do an awkward high five and then Bubba puts his teeth back in)
I can't believe anyone in their right mind would put that in their key ad space. After all the positive vibes that Harold and Kumar put out, they're going to ruin it with apple juice? What's next? A rattle with every value meal? Buy one slider, get a carrot free? Now serving cucumbers? Where does it end?? God, it's like Emilio Estevez is giving the White Castle CEO career advice.
Emilio: That's right. Advertise the apple juice. The people will come.
CEO: Really? Well if you say so. Are you going to stop in?
Emilio: I can't. I'm on my way to film Mighty Ducks 4: The Ducks Don't Die. But the people; they will come.
Morons.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Felix Hernandez
Did you see his start against the Twins last night? He mowed them down! Well, at this point, Danny Almonte would have a fair chance at mowing them down. Hell, you put Kelly Leak on the mound and there's a fair chance at a shutout.
But this was a 19 year old kid in his second major league start pitching shut out ball for 8 innings. Then, he went out and snorted cocaine off a hookers ass. Before you know it, he's going to be getting DWI's all over the place and have hios bank account frozen for "forgetting" to send his ex-wife 50% of the profits from the sale of their house. But, then again, he'd be taking these Dwight Gooden comparisons waaaayyyy too literally.
Maybe Felis should just stop the comparisons at the dominating pitching performances and leave the rest of following in Dwight's footsteps to his real son, Dwight Gooden Jr. I think the world would be a better place; we'd have Felix dominating major league hitters for the next 15 years and Dwight Jr. sitting in jail, waiting for DJ Strawberry to become Corey Haim to Dwight's Corey Feldman.
But this was a 19 year old kid in his second major league start pitching shut out ball for 8 innings. Then, he went out and snorted cocaine off a hookers ass. Before you know it, he's going to be getting DWI's all over the place and have hios bank account frozen for "forgetting" to send his ex-wife 50% of the profits from the sale of their house. But, then again, he'd be taking these Dwight Gooden comparisons waaaayyyy too literally.
Maybe Felis should just stop the comparisons at the dominating pitching performances and leave the rest of following in Dwight's footsteps to his real son, Dwight Gooden Jr. I think the world would be a better place; we'd have Felix dominating major league hitters for the next 15 years and Dwight Jr. sitting in jail, waiting for DJ Strawberry to become Corey Haim to Dwight's Corey Feldman.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Antoine Walker trade
The problem is, they're going with the Dallas Maverick, Phoenix Sun, Baltimore Oriole and Washington Redskin philosophy of "Fantasy Team...for Real." Sure, that would make a sweet fantasy team, just add a little Theo Ratliff down in the box to win the block title with Shaq and you're good to go.
I don't get why GM's and owners don't understand that putting a bunch of "highlight" people together doesn't make you a winning team. Does it help for awhile? Sure. And regular season titles are fun. But, you need to put people together who are role players to go along with your superstars. You can't have a team of superstars because then no one is going to want to clean up the shit (i.e. rebound, play defense, make it with the less attractive groupies, set picks, etc).
In basketball, you need your "star", your "second fiddle" and a bunch of people who listen to The Rock (know your role!). The Heat had that last year. Now, they have a mess of people who are going to want to be on Sportscenter, want to lead the team in scoring and not care about errant passes. Essentially, they have become a rich man's version of the Dallas Mavericks; a team that can do well in the regular season but has virtually no chance of winning in the postseason.
You'd think that they would have learned something from the Spurs and the Pistons; get role players, defensive stoppers and a scorer and you can advance far. But hey, I mean Antoine Walker is just sitting out there for almost 10 million a year; he can't hurt the team, right? Right??
I don't get why GM's and owners don't understand that putting a bunch of "highlight" people together doesn't make you a winning team. Does it help for awhile? Sure. And regular season titles are fun. But, you need to put people together who are role players to go along with your superstars. You can't have a team of superstars because then no one is going to want to clean up the shit (i.e. rebound, play defense, make it with the less attractive groupies, set picks, etc).
In basketball, you need your "star", your "second fiddle" and a bunch of people who listen to The Rock (know your role!). The Heat had that last year. Now, they have a mess of people who are going to want to be on Sportscenter, want to lead the team in scoring and not care about errant passes. Essentially, they have become a rich man's version of the Dallas Mavericks; a team that can do well in the regular season but has virtually no chance of winning in the postseason.
You'd think that they would have learned something from the Spurs and the Pistons; get role players, defensive stoppers and a scorer and you can advance far. But hey, I mean Antoine Walker is just sitting out there for almost 10 million a year; he can't hurt the team, right? Right??
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